


Truth in Shadow

by mmbopp



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action & Romance, Be patient, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Sex, Developing Relationship, Elder Scrolls Lore, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Lore friendly, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Fluff, Skyrim - Freeform, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Tamriel, Thieves Guild, immersive af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmbopp/pseuds/mmbopp
Summary: When Vera Laenius leaves her Imperial home to make a name for herself, 'Dragonborn' nor 'Guild Master' were the names she expected.





	1. Step One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm playing through Skyrim during vacation and this happened. I'm a novice writer, but Vera's story just would not leave me alone. 
> 
> Story follows canon to start, with embellishments, and will diverge to wherever my brain eventually takes this. Vera does not know she's Dragonborn until MUCH later. Also, her eventual relationship with Brynjolf is a slow burn. So I ask for patience, dear readers. Comments welcome and appreciated.
> 
> [DISCLAIMER: my writing was inspired by Bethesda's Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim and its modders. I am grateful to Bethesda (and the modders) for its wonderful game, without it, my story would not exist. Enjoy! ;) ]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. - Lao Tzu

The recently-disturbed soil was piled slightly higher than it was due to the casket that now laid underneath it. A slender woman, raven-haired with piercing steel gray eyes, dressed in leather armor and black traveling cloak, held a bouquet of Red and Blue Mountain flowers in her hand. The dense gray clouds above mirrored Vera's melancholy. The breeze tousled some wispy strands free from her plaited hair, wafting a scent rain. The impending weather seemed to replicate the unshed tears in her eyes as she stared at the fresh grave long after the priest and undertaker had left.

Kneeling down at the grave, Vera tenderly placed the spray of flowers and took a small handful of soil before slowly letting it slip through her fingers. Her memories were all focused on the woman she had called Mama all of her life.

She was the only person in her 28 years who gave a damn about her, and now she was gone. Vera had spent no small amount of coin to ensure her mother would not be laid to rest in a pauper's grave.

Vera's gaze transfixed on the granite headstone. HANA LAENIUS. BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER. But Vera did not see the words. She saw memories of her mother, vivid, but fleeting moments blurred at their edges.

Smells of fresh bread, grilled leeks, and Mama’s venison stew on a bitterly cold winter night.

The walks through the forest surrounding the village, Mama pointing out healing herbs and edible mushrooms. Then, sitting in the sun-drenched meadow, braiding daisy chains into each other’s hair.

The Nordic lilt of her voice recounting the tales of her homeland. Ones filled with dragons, giants, and brave heroes she would masterfully weave before Vera fell asleep.

Her mother’s joyous laughter in the adoring arms of her father in front of a crackling hearth after he had returned from another deployment.

And then there were the regrets, the images flooding her troubled mind.

The skinny girl, aged 12 years, unable to cease her mother’s tears when the Imperial messenger arrived bearing news her father was killed in action in some remote campaign.

How Mama would neglect her threadbare frocks and wear salvaged boots as she scrimped and saved every last septum to see Vera clothed, fed, and educated.

The disappointment in her mother’s amber eyes when the city guard had brought teenaged Vera home after she had been caught pickpocketing in the market, again.

Most of all, Vera regretted how she didn’t hug her tight enough or kiss her on the cheek the last time she said goodbye. She couldn’t even remember the last time she told Mama that she loved her.

The tears on her cheeks merged with the falling rain. She sniffed and swiftly wiped them on her sleeves before standing up. With a ragged breath, she pushed her braids beneath her hood as she pulled it up over her head. Vera whispered goodbye as she turned on her heel and walked away with a heavy heart and a silent promise to be someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and suggestions are welcome


	2. Helgen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Carriage Ride and Helgen Dragon Attack

Vera was slowly aware of a throbbing pain. Reaching for her head, her hand came away gummy she felt blood crusted down the back of her neck. Woozy, her head swimming, she grimaced as she sat up

Sunlight, almost blinding bright hit her and she cringed twisting her head to the side. She saw trees all around her, and the blue sky that lied beyond. Her brows furrowed, and her Imperial steel eyes stared around completely flummoxed. "What the hell…?” This…isn't happening. This is a dream, right? If it was it was the most realistic dream that she had ever experienced. Her injuries and ropes tied round her wrists were real enough.

Across from her was a tall, stocky blond man with blond hair that hung down to his shoulders, a braid on the left side running down the side of his temple. He wore a dark chainmail with a torn blue tunic over it that looked as ragged as the man himself. He had a bruises and grime covering his face as if he had been through some kind of struggle.  
"You are finally awake, lass?" Ralof asked, his brown eyes filled with concern as they raked over her. Her tunic stained and askew, her trousers torn, and her boots missing. "Got caught trying to cross the border," Ralof said, sympathetically. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."  


"You there," the thief took expression mean that she shared his feelings on the matter. "You and me, we don't belong here. The Imperials are after these Stormcloaks, not us."

Vera gave him a flat look. "Something tells me that these Imperials aren’t too choosy on who they arrest," she stated, dryly. She reached up to touch her throat, which was a bit awkward given how her hands were bound. Her heart dropped when her fingers did not find her snowflake obsidian amulet. A smooth, oblong black stone flecked with white. A worthless trinket to others, it had been the last thing Vera bought before leaving her village. A small piece of home to carry with her wherever he journey took her. She often fiddled with it when anxious. A rough jostle Vera snapped out of her reverie. 

"What is wrong with him?" The thief nodded at Ulfric.  


"Watch your tongue," Ralof glowered, straightening his spine. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

Ulfric Stormcloak was an intimidating man, even bound and with a gag wrapped around his mouth. With hazel eyes as sharp as a hungry wolf's, he analyzed everything around him. It was strange that even bound, gagged, and captured by his enemies, he still held a dignified air about himself draped in his rich furs and self-assured confidence. He knew that he was on his way to his death, and he faced it without fear.  


The thief gaped for a long moment. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? The leader of the rebellion?" the thief stuttered out, fear in his gaze.

"Unless there is another Ulfric running around with another rebellion," Vera muttered, sarcastically. Ralof let out a chuckle while the thief gave her a glare to which she arched an eyebrow. "You don't get it, do you?" The thief spat. "If they've captured him then…oh, gods, where are they are taking us?" Vera shuddered at the thought.  


"I don't know where we are going," Ralof heaved a heavy sigh. "But I imagine Sovngarde awaits."

The caravan rolled through a wooden gate into a walled village. Helgen, if she were to believe Rolof’s musings. The Imperial soldiers ordered everyone to dismount. "Why are we stopping?" The thief asked, fearfully.  


"Why do you think?" Rolof looked at him, flatly. "End of the line."  


The thief gulped. "No, no, no…"  


"Let's go…shouldn't keep the guards waiting, now should we?" Ralof said, with a humorless smile.

"No! No! We aren't rebels!" The thief proclaimed loudly, but the ears of the Imperial soldiers were deaf to his claims. Ralof rose to his feet, and the thief rose to his trembling ones. Ulfric rose gracefully, but Vera sat stunned for a split second. Her eyes narrowed, and lips tilted downward. This isn't right, she thought, a dizzy feeling swept over her and she rose to her feet slowly. They dropped out of the cart one by one, and Vera flinched as her feet hit the ground. Her legs wobbled, and her knees threatened to buckle right out from underneath her. Her entire body from head to toe felt weak and lethargic as if she had been asleep for a very, very long time.

She stumbled, not unlike a newborn colt, when Ralof caught her with his hands and steadied her. "Whoa…easy there," he said, quietly. She looked up at him, and when he was this close she appreciated the lines of tension that crinkled around his eyes and mouth. He looked worried, and she supposed he had every right to be. After all, he truly believed this was the end of the line for him. "Thanks," she murmured, softly.

"Step towards the block when your name is called," the Captain ordered, her voice harsh and brusque. Her expression was cold and hard as she regarded them all as if they were something she had just scraped off the bottom of her boot.  


"Empire love their damned lists," Ralof groused, underneath his breath. Vera stayed silent, apprehension crept across her skin.. The wind brushed against her face, a chill brought drown from the snowy mountains looming like silent observers above.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," said a young Nordic Imperial soldier. Ulfric walked forward his head held high, and walked forward without hesitation. Ralof stood at attention, and spoke, "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric."  


"Ralof of Riverwood.” Ralof only paused for a moment to give her a nod, before he followed Ulfric without a single glance back. "Lokir of Rokistead." Lokir trembled. "No! You don't understand! You can't do this!" The thief pleaded, desperately then he bolted forward. A fool-hearted sprint for freedom.  


"Halt!" The Captain shouted after him as Lokir dashed past the guards running as fast as his legs could take him. "Archers," she barked out, roughly.

Vera stood there, her stomach turned violently. Bile was bitter on the back of her tongue, and she shuddered from her head to her toes. Her knees knocked together and tears welled up in her eyes. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest with panic. The arrows embedded in Lokir’s back with sickening thwacks and his body crumpled to the ground. “Anyone else feel like running?” the Captain spat.

Vera flinched. This was not how she had envisioned her mother’s homeland.

"Wait. You there…who are you?" a Nordic imperial soldier asked, a look of shock on his face. There was no mention of another prisoner on the list at all.  
Vera did not answer. "He said, “Who are you?”" The Captain snapped.

Vera's anger rushed through her, boiling and white hot. She gritted her teeth together and glared at the woman. Her lips were sealed tight together, and she absolutely refused to answer the woman. The Captain narrowed her eyes and stepped forward when the Nordic soldier intervened. "Captain, there are no other names on the list," he stated, uncertainty in his kind eyes.

The tan skinned Imperial woman stepped forward, squaring her shoulders towards the Captain. Ferocity blazing in her steel colored eyes “My name is Vera Laenius of Pell’s Gate; I am a citizen of the Empire and veteran Sentinel of the Imperial Scouts.” Insolence and indignation dripping from every word. She knew her rights as a citizen and she was righteously invoking them.

The Captain tossed Vera a frigid look. "We’ve no way of verifying that, so it matters not. All go to the chopping block, name on the list or not," the Captain commanded and then turned her back on Vera.

"By your orders captain" was his reply. Vera couldn't help but notice the emphasis he placed on his words. The Nordic Imperial soldier gave her a sympathetic look. "That way, prisoner," he stated, softly. 

Vera dumbfounded, stumbled forward. In normal legal proceedings, her right to due process could not be so flagrantly ignored. This...This was all wrong. Her mind was racing as she watched one Nord rebel go to the headsman, defiant to the end. His lifeless eyes staring back at her from the bloody basket.

Vera felt a bead of sweat roll down her right temple as her wide eyes stared down at the chopping block. Blood oozed down its rough hewn surface, so much blood. A wave of nausea swept over her and she stumbled back, her heart jackhammering in her chest. A soldier pushed her forward and her knees buckled before the block. Vera’s prayers were interrupted as the headsman planted his boot between her shoulders, kicking her down against the block. Her right cheek stuck to the bloody wood which reeked of copper. It was warm and wet against her skin, like the tears trickling down her cheeks before she could stop them. She stifled a sob and then Vera whispered what she thought were her last words, “Mama. Papa. I’ll see you soon.”

Suddenly an ear-piercing roar split the sky, and a great winged shadow fell upon Helgen. There were shouts that came from all around her as the ground trembled, and she glanced upward to see a enormous black dragon, obsidian scales glinted in the sunlight like liquid ebony. His malevolent ruby eyes pierced her very soul. Vera was momentarily awestruck before her world was encased by flames. 

“This way!" A hand grabbed her arm. "The gods will not give us another chance! To your feet!" Ralof grabbed her elbow and pulled her towards a stone tower. Stumbling over her feet, they rushed through the threshold and two Stormcloak soldiers slammed and barred the door shut behind them. 

"By Talos, is that truly a dragon? Can the legends be true?"  


"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric said, his voice was like thunder. The stone walls rumbled with authority. Vera felt her spine stiffen when Ulfric’s intense gaze fell on her, and she could see the cogs whirring behind his gaze as he considered her. It did not take a genius to construe what was rushing through his mind, and she frowned deeply. She looked towards the wounded who lied heaving on the ground. The metallic smell of blood coated the air as strongly as fire and smoke. Her chest rose and fell with sharp breaths before she made her way towards them.

One Stormcloak just shook his head at her, his expression sad. "There is nothing that can be done for them now," the soldier told her, quietly. "They make for Sovngarde. May the Hall of Valor await you, dear friend."

Vera stood there for a moment, her face twisted in indecision. "We can't stay here," she spoke, quietly. The chaos outside deafened only slightly by the thick stone walls. "We need to move, now," she urged Ulfric and Ralof.  


"The only way is up," Ralof nodded at the stairs.  


"I will take my chances out there with the dragon than go with her!" One Stormcloak stood to his feet, and glare at Vera who just took a step back in surprise.  


"That is enough," Ralof stepped towards her. "We have not the time for petty arguments—" Ralof started, when the wall came crashing in. Ralof pulled back, and the three sought shelter behind a chunk of wall that had crashing in when the dragon roared, "TOOR SHUL!" Wait, were those words? Why did she understand them? The dragon spat fire at the poor Stormcloak soldier that had been a few paces ahead. She couldn’t even register her her own thoughts, let alone scream, the white hot air burning in the insides of her lungs and singeing her hair. The smell of burning flesh seared through the air and Vera choked on her vomit and turned her face as she knelt by the wall to spit it out. Her body shook from her head to her toes.

The fire ceased and the dragon swept upward in search of another target. None of them moved, not until they were sure the creature had left. Ralof pushed Vera up the stairs until she came to a halt right at the edge of the tower, and looked down at the inn. It looked impossibly far away. How was she ever supposed to make that jump?  


"We will have to jump through the roof to keep going," Ralof stated, once he reached her side. "You first, lass. That roof won't hold up forever, but it is your best way out."  


"What if I can't make it?" She looked at Ralof.  


Ralof stared down at her with a somber kind of wisdom. "Don't think. Just jump," he told her, simply.  


"Oh…kay," Vera said, not certain that actually helped at all. She swallowed thickly and took several steps back staring at the jump before her. Her heart fluttered with trepidation, and she clenched her eyes tightly.

Then she ran forward as fast as she could. She threw her entire body into the jump, and she felt the hot air rush past her. She didn't open her eyes. She was too afraid to see if she made it. She didn't open her eyes until her feet hit the ground, and when she rolled, she rolled right through a hole in the ceiling and fell straight down to the floor below. Her body withered as a white hot like liquid lightning shot through her shoulder blade down to her fingertips when something popped loudly. A scream tore through her lips before she could help it, and tears blurred her vision.

For several seconds, she gasped for air looking like a dying fish left on the bank before she managed to get a breath into her lungs. It was a battle to get over onto her knees, and from there it was almost impossible to stand. But she felt the fire closing in and the ominous creaking of the wood from above. She had to move, the thought rushed through her mind and she moved as fast as she could. She forced the pain away, solely focusing on the exit and as soon as she stepped out into the chaos that the building collapsed behind her.

A hot rush of embers hit her back, and her hair whipped around wildly. She narrowed her eyes, and looked back towards the tower. She did not see Ralof or Ulfric, and knew they must have chosen a different way out. Drawing a deep breath, she hissed as she moved her right arm. A burning, tingling pain came down from her shoulder blade all the way to her fingertips. Her shoulder dangling out of its socket, and she gritted her teeth together as she moved forward. Dead bodies scattered the ground, some of the burnt beyond recognition; most dead, others withering in pain.

Vera tried not to focus on the carnage as she stumbled through the chaos. She focused on the clear path in front of her, and saw two Imperials with their swords drawn. She recognized the Nord with kind eyes. He shouted to a child. "Hamming, over here! Now!" he shouted at the young boy. The boy's face trembled, tears streaking down his face as he rushed over to the Imperial's side. "Easy, boy, easy," he said, quietly.

Vera stumbled over towards them, not sure what her reception would be then the great black beast swept down and landed in front of them. "Get back!" He shouted, and Vera scooped the child up into her arms. Dragon's blazing fire brushed past them, and they sheltered behind a building. Vera cowered against the wall, adrenaline coursing wildly through her veins. 

"Still alive, prisoner?" said the Nordic Imperial, his brows pinched ever so slightly. "If you want to stay that way, then you need to stay with me. Understood?" Vera just looked at him, swallowing thickly though she gave no reply. "Gunnar, take Hamming and get to safety." he commanded as he took the shivering child from Vera’s arms.  


"What of you?" Gunnar asked.  


"I make to rendezvous with General Tullius and the Captain to take up defense. Now, go! Go!"  


"Gods guide you, Hadvar."

Vera hesitated, she had no desire to see the Imperial Captain anymore than she did Ulfric right now. Her lips twisted downward as she stumbled after Hadvar, her lungs hard-pressed for air in the billowing, toxic smoke.

They rounded a corner, and a large shadow swooped overhead. "Stay close to the wall!" The soldier forced her back against the stone wall and she felt the impact of the beast landing on the top of it through every bone in her body. Her eyes widened as she took in the leathery wing just inches from her face and held her breath. "TOOR SHUL!" The dragon unleashed his voice and spread the fire down on Helgen.

Vera trembled as she watched buildings fall and people die right before her eyes. The smell of ashes and burnt flesh would not be one so easily forgotten. The noise was deafening, beating incessantly against her ear drums and she could barely make out who was telling her to stay put. Her eyes were on the dragon in horror and awe as she watched the beast shove with all his might off of the wall and took to the sky once more. 

"Come on, hurry!" Hadvar shouted, loudly. Vera followed him through the decimated ruins of a house before they came out on the main roadway in Helgen where a row archers stood firing arrows up at the flying beast.  


"It's you and me, prisoner! Stay close!" he ordered, rushing past them. He had seen that the majority of soldiers were either dead, or fleeing. Only the brave or stupid remained.

The keep. They were heading towards the keep. It was the only building relatively intact with its large stone walls and Vera picked up the pace, ignoring the pain blossoming in her shoulder. The soldier came to a sudden halt, "Ralof! You damned traitor!" His sword drawn out in front of him as if he had half the mind to run the blond Stormcloak right through.  
Ralof paused to give him a sneer. "We're escaping, Hadvar! You will not stop us," the blond Nord stated, his axe raised ready to defend himself.  


"Fine," Hadvar spat. "I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!"

Vera looked between both of them with wide eyes, and indecision swelled up inside of her. Fear prickled at her scalp as she regarded them both, not knowing which one she would follow. Her palms were slick with sweat and her heart seemed to well up inside of her with so much fear and so much uncertainty.

"You!" Ralof saw her, and she swore she saw a measure of relief in his eyes at seeing her. "Come on! Into the keep!"  


"With me, prisoner! Let's go!" Hadvar shouted.

Both men rushed off without looking back to see if she was following them, and Vera stood there for a long moment her heart pounding her chest. Her mind was locked in some kind of battle of wills. When a shadow from above fell over her, her mind went blank with wild panic and she let her feet do the thinking for her. She burst through the Keep doors and Hadvar slammed it shut behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and suggestions are welcome


	3. A Harrowing Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escaping Helgen

The sound of her harsh breaths echoed inside of her head, and she trembled with her back against the door. The thunderous roar of terror and chaos became muted; the cold, stone walls were dark and silent against the fiery storm rained down on top of the Keep. No matter how resilient they seemed right now, Vera knew that some of these walls that gave the illusion of safety would come crumbling down. She had no desire to be beneath them when that happened, and yet she couldn’t move from her spot by the door. Her ankles quaked beneath her weight. With each breath heaved into her lungs, the burning in her shoulder became more intense. Her mouth was dry like it as if filled with cotton, and dread gnawed at her insides.

It wasn’t until Hadvar placed his hand on her shoulder that she was drawn sharply back into the present. She hissed slightly at his touch because he grabbed her dislocated one. Hadvar immediately realized his mistake and released her. His kind eyes filled with concern scrutinized her shoulder quickly. “You cannot go on with such an injury,” he said, a sympathetic tilt to his lips. “It will hinder you too greatly to leave it be.”

“I know…” Vera’s throat bobbed, beads of sweat rolled down her forehead.

“I wish I could offer you a hand more gentle and practiced at healing, and I have no potions to spare to make this more bearable,” he regretfully stated. His fingers reached out, touching her bound hands, and he tapped them lightly. “First, we need to be rid of these.” Hadvar pulled a small steel dagger from his belt and carefully cut through the binds. They fell to the floor, and Vera rubbed her raw wrists, feeling the tingle as blood flowed back into her skin. “Now for your shoulder,” he prompted. “The faster we get that done, the faster we can get moving and get out of here.” The earth trembled beneath the soles of her feet with sharp chaotic beats that were a grim reminder of what laid just beyond the wooden doors. He was right. Breathing sharply through her nose, Vera nodded shakily.

She leaned against the stone wall, jarring in shock at it being so bitterly cold, she planted her feet firmly underneath her. Releasing a shuddering breath, she then clenched her jaw as she looked to Hadvar who placed two steady hands on her shoulder. Vera gave a sharp nod. Hadvar shoved her shoulder into place swiftly and without hesitation. The joint gave a loud, stomach-wrenching crack. Several unflattering curses rushed passed Vera’s lips and stars danced in front of her eyes. The burning pain throbbed in her shoulder for several heartbeats and dulled into a white-hot ache after that. She glowered at Hadvar petulantly when he patted her arm in a consoling way.

Vera reached up, wiping the sweat from her brow. “What now?” She asked, out loud though the question was more to herself than to Hadvar.

“Now, we get you some better gear. Search those chests over there” Hadvar motioned to a row of cots each with a worn, oaken footlocker, where Vera found some Imperial leathers, not unlike those she had worn, years before. She gathered the gear into the crook of her uninjured arm. It took a few moments, but with Hadvar’s help, the armor was put on over her clothes. It was ill-fitted and made for a person taller and more stout than she. It almost felt like a child’s sad attempt at playing dress-up with something they pulled out of their parents’ wardrobe, but it would offer more protection than the rags she had been wearing.

“You’ll also need this,” Hadvar pressed a sword and scabbard into her waiting palms, “Have you ever fought before?” He added, quietly with a somber look in his eyes.

Vera shook her head. “Not like this.” She was much more accustomed to a bow. When her superiors had seen her skill, she was assigned to forward reconnaissance. She was trained to stay out of sight and at range while sniping targets quickly. She had little experience at hand to hand combat.

Hadvar nodded, with a knowing look. “Just do what it takes to protect yourself, at any cost. It will be you against whatever else lays further down in this Keep, and you must choose yourself to be the one to survive. Any hesitation given on your part is an opportunity for them, and you cannot afford to give them any,” he told her, gravely.

Although the steel sword felt ungainly and foreign in her hands, her untrained slashing had managed to fend off her attackers in the next two rooms. The worst skirmish was in what appeared to be a torture chamber.

She turned her back on the surviving soldiers and walked over to a knapsack that sat on the table. Hadvar tossed her a potion, and she uncorked it. She was grateful for it as the bitter, herbal tincture warmly coated her throat, though she nearly gagged. The best medicines were always the hardest to swallow. She felt her pains subside and noted how her bleeding cuts slowed.

She opened up the sack and reached inside the side flap of the bag, and took out the lockpicks when her gaze fell on the book that sat there on the edge of the table. Her fingertips brushed over the embossed symbol pressed into its dark leather-bound cover, and her heart skipped a beat in her chest. This book was one she knew by heart. The Book of the Dragonborn. The one Mama had read to her as a child.

Chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, she picked up the book and put in the bag along with the extra lockpicks. She avoided Hadvar’s gaze and made her way to the cage. Kneeling down on one knee, she carefully slid a pick into the lock and began to work on picking it. She leaned close to hear the soft click before she turned the tools to the right. The mechanism gave way, and she pulled open the cage door.

“Knows the way of thievery, do you?” Hadvar asked, his tone tinged with judgment.

“A skill acquired during a misspent youth,” Vera answered. She could also deftly remove anything of value before her mark realized, but seeing Hadvar’s expression, she kept that knowledge to herself.

Her stomach lurched when she stepped into the cage, and she murmured a small prayer for the dead mage. This oubliette was not a place where she would wish anyone to meet their end. Gathering the coin, she offered them to Hadvar, but he declined. Vera’s gaze turned to the spellbook. Curiosity bid her pick it up, and she slipped into the knapsack. She could sell it later for good coin, and if she was going to survive, she was going to need to money to help pave her way. She stepped out of the cell and released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding when she caught sight of something in the corner behind a barrel.

Narrowing her eyes in surprise, she stared at the Imperial bow and dagger. Sheathing the sword in its scabbard, Vera slid a steel dagger into the belt around her waist. Backup weapons never hurt anyone. She picked up the bow with a delicate hand, and the familiar weight of it was consoling. She was more confident in her archery abilities. Picking up the quiver, she counted the arrows and frowned lightly. There was about fifteen in total; she’d have to make every shot count, and her shoulder was still tender, but she knew that she was better off with this as her weapon of choice. The quiver settled on her shoulder a bit awkwardly because of the knapsack, but she could still reach the arrows easily. In the end, that’s all that mattered.

Just a little bit further, she told herself. She could feel exhaustion start to worm its way into her bones. Her muscles throbbed beneath her skin and the slashes on her arm swollen, but the bleeding had stopped. She walked towards the trio. “Ready to go?” She asked, neutrally.  
Hadvar nodded, soundlessly.

The long hallway lined with cells was quiet, and nearly pitch black. Vera trailed behind the three Imperial soldiers, and a tiny, little hope built up inside of her heart. A slight, anxious flutter of her heart and she held the bow in a bloodless grip. A feeling pooling in and around her heart that just maybe she would be able to survive through the end of this, after all.

They could hear the echoes of running water before entering the next room. As they rounded the corner, six Stormcloaks attacked. The Imperial soldiers were quick to handle the melee attackers’ onslaught, though Hadvar was the only surviving victor. Vera said a quick prayer to herself for those two soldiers that had fought alongside him.

Vera peripherally saw a shift in the shadows. Three archers set their sights on Hadvar. Ignoring the stiffness in her injured shoulder, Vera knocked an arrow and let it lose. It struck the chest of one Stormcloak archer. Before the enemy had fallen to the ground, she had loosed another volley, taking out a second. Before the third could set his sights on Vera, she had already sent a fatal shot into his throat.

“I’m impressed,” Hadvar commented, “We could use an archer like you in the Imperial army.”

“I’ve already served the Emperor, remember, Hadvar?” Vera replied. Dark memories of remote campaigns and barely surviving recon missions gone awry flashed through her mind. She shook her head. “This time, the Emperor can shove it.”

“Oh, right. I feel a draft coming from this way. Come on.”

She and Hadvar followed the underground stream as it wound through the caverns to another room. A light breeze was wafting through the many webs coating the walls. Shit. Spiders. Why did it have to be spiders? Vera grumbled to herself.

Although reasonably easy adversaries, Frostbite Spiders always set her teeth on edge. Three giant, hairy frostbite spiders, crept on the cavern floor. While Havdar hacked one to death, she swiftly ended the other two with arrows through their beady eyes.

It seemed the Divines weren’t done with them yet because the grotto beyond was home to a cave bear. Vera was thankful for the surprise advantage. She would have loved to sneak past, but she found more solace in knowing nothing could attack from behind. So she took the shot. A clean kill. She sacrificed her tunic as a makeshift sack for some meat and some strips of the pelt, knowing that they would fetch good coin.

"This looks like the way out! I was starting to wonder if we'd ever make it." “Closest town from here is Riverwood. My uncle’s the blacksmith there. I’m sure he’ll help you out.”

As Vera and Hadvar exit the cave, he cries "Wait!" and pulls her down behind a rocky outcrop as the great black dragon disappears over the mountains. "Looks like he's gone for good this time. But I don't think we should stick around to see if he comes back.” Vera dusts herself off as she stands. Hadvar adjusted his gear “It’s probably best we split up.” Hadvar stated “I wouldn’t have made without your help today. Good luck.” He turned to walk away.

“Hadvar...wait!” Vera shouted after him. “Can I come with you... At least to as far as Riverwood.”

“Let’s get going, then.” he nodded in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments welcome


	4. Road to Riverwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadvar starts falling for Vera. They both get a warm family welcome from the Riverwood blacksmith.

As they walked the narrow path, Hadvar recounted growing up in the shadow of a ruin looming on the ridge beyond the river. "See that ruin up there? Bleak Falls Barrow,” he said gesturing up the mountain. “When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that kind of thing.”

“Draugr?” Vera queried.

“A living dead abomination. My parents warned me of them crawling through the windows of naughty children at night. I’ll admit. Even to this day, I still don’t like the look of it.”

Gazing up and the imposing ancient structure, Vera hoped to the Divines it was just that, another bogeyman’s tale. Its stone spires were unblinkingly guarding the mysteries within.

The well-worn path switched back-and-forth down from the Helgen cavern exit. Vera soon heard rushing rapids, and the landscape became alpine meadows abloom in astonishing color. Some healing herbs and mushrooms she immediately recognized. She knelt for what Hadvar felt was the umpteenth time and she stashed them in her knapsack.

“Come on, Vera. I’d like to reach Riverwood before sunset. I’d rather not be some sabrecat or wolf’s next meal.”

“And when that cat or wolf gnaws on you, you’ll thank me for being prepared” she admonished, in a singsong voice.

Before long, the road led to what appeared to be a trio of Standing Stones, entangled by ivy vines and encrusted with moss. Vera recalled her Nordic mother’s tales of magical stones found in the wilds of Skyrim, imbued with ancient arcane powers.

“The Guardian Stones. Standing stones in Skyrim are revered for their magical properties if you’re inclined to believe the legends or you’re the superstitious type.” Hadvar informed her. “Mage.” pointing to the center stone. “Warrior.” gesturing to the stone on the right. “Thief.” signaling to the left stone. “Go ahead. See for yourself.” he encouraged. Vera reverently knelt before the Thief stone, briefly feeling a mystical connection wash over her.

“Thief, eh? It’s never too late to take charge of your fate.”

“I did, and I am. I wouldn’t have left Pell’s Gate if I wasn’t seeking my to control my fate, Hadvar.” her gray eyes looked full into his. He admired her ferocity and wished they had met under different circumstances. In another time or place, he might have courted her.

“Listen, as far as I'm concerned you've already earned your pardon. But until we get that confirmed by General Tullius, just stay clear of other Imperial soldiers and avoid any complications, all right?' He sighed. "Come on. I'll feel better once we're undercover in Riverwood."

After walking aways further in uneasy silence, Hadvar spoke up. "I'm glad you decided to come with me.”

“The Captain would’ve executed me without trial. And anyone else would have left me for dragon fodder back in Helgen, but you didn’t so thank you...”

For just a moment, he felt a flutter in his stomach. Hadvar stood entranced by her fine features. Her olive complexion spoke of warm summer days near the Imperial City. Those eyes, the color of steel and just as sharp, cut through his last vestige of resolve. She was fierce; she was tenacious; she was beautiful. Hadvar coughed nervously turning his attention to the landmarks more familiar to him, “We're almost there."

Riverwood was a small hamlet with a tavern, sawmill, and general goods trader. The thatched roofed cottages had stone walls and small vegetable gardens. The sky had turned gray and was threatening rain by the time the pair reached Riverwood. Upon seeing his uncle, "Things look quiet here. Come on. There's my uncle."  
"Uncle Alvor! Hello!" he greeted the blacksmith who was pumping the bellows of his forge.

"Hadvar? What are you doing here? Are you on leave from... Shor's bones, what happened to you, boy?!" noting Hadvar's bruised and bloodied state. "Are you in some trouble?"

"Shh. Uncle, please. Keep your voice down. I'm fine. But we should go inside to talk."

"What's going on?” he turns to look the Imperial woman beside his nephew “And who's this?"

"She's a friend. Saved my life, in fact. Come on, I'll explain everything, but we need to go inside."

"Okay, okay. Come inside, then. Sigrid will get you something to eat, and you can tell me all about it."

Alvor crossed the porch to the front door and ushered them inside. "Sigrid! We have company!" he announced. Vera stepped inside to the blacksmith’s humble abode. To her right, two hand-hewn wooden beds, and an aged wardrobe. Three rags, three wooden bowls, three spoons, and a loaf of fresh bread sat upon a rustic table to her left. A fire crackled and popped in the hearth. A deliciously familiar scent wafted from a simmering pot. Vera inhaled deeply...venison stew, like her mother's. It felt like home, even though Vera knew hers was a thousand mile away.

Sigrid, middle-aged blond woman appears from the basement stairs. She was wringing her hands on her apron when she looked up. An instantaneously smile bursts across her face."Hadvar! It has been too long!” She full heartedly embraced her nephew, kissing both cheeks. “And you’ve brought a young lady! Your letters spoke not one word about a lady friend.” she teased, seeing Vera peek out from behind him. “Come, you two must be hungry. Sit down, and I'll get you something to eat." She rushed to the hutch in the corner to get two more place settings.

Alvor sat down on a wooden bench at the dining table. "Now then, boy, what's the big mystery? What are you doing here looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?" he inquired, pointing out both Hadvar and Vera’s disheveled, haggard appearance. Vera's hair matted with detritus around soot-streaked her face. A gash at the corner of her brow healed into a fresh pink scar. She also was still favoring her injured shoulder, and shallow cuts have scattered the length of both arms. Hadvar’s face bearing bruises from the harrowing battle to escape.

"I don't know where to start.” Hadvar sighed “You know I was assigned to General Tullius's guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked by," he drew a ragged breath, "a dragon."

"A dragon? That's ridiculous. You aren't drunk, are you boy?"

"Husband.” She swatted him with he napkin “Let him tell his story." Sigrid chastised.

"Not much more to tell. The dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don't know if anyone else got out alive. I doubt I'd have made it out if not for my friend here. I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what's happened. I thought you could help us out. Food, supplies, a place to stay."

"Of course! Any friend of Hadvar's is a friend of mine. I'd be glad to help however I can.

Vera looked down to Hadvar’s side where Dorthe, a spritely child, appeared as if from thin air. She insistently tugged on her cousin’s tunic "Hadvar, did you see a dragon for real? What did it look like? Did it have big teeth?" she asked in such rapid-fire succession she made Vera’s head spin.

"Hush, child.” Sigrid chuckled as she chided her daughter “Don't pester your cousin."

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind” Hadvar scooped up his cousin and kissed her forehead. “I’ll tell you all about the big, mean dragon before bed tonight.” He placed her back down on her feet and tousled her hair. Dorthe stuck her stuck out to him for that.

“Dorthe, go wash up before we eat.”

“Yes, mother,” she said reluctantly, in that tone known to all children.

"Well, I'd better get back to work.” Alvor stood to go back to his forge “You two make yourselves at home."

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.” Sigrid eyed Vera. “So why don’t you tell me about yourself,” she asked ladling a bowl of stew. Vera gratefully accepted it, she thought carefully about what she should and should not divulge; she decided to go with the obvious.

“My name is Vera. I was born and raised south of the Imperial City. I was a scout before I joined up with Hadvar at Helgen. I got separated from my group in the chaos of the dragon attack. He rescued me and brought me here.”

Though she was not necessarily lying outright, Hadvar noticed how she artfully spun just enough truth into her tale, while keeping the unsavory bits to herself. What was her life like before we met, he wondered.

The four of them finished their meal discussing small talk. Vera felt pleasantly secure with warm food and a roof over her head. “I can draw you a bath downstairs” Sigrid offered after the table was cleared.

“Yes, that would be wonderful.”

“Hadvar, go see if you uncle needs help at the forge. The lady needs to refresh, now shoo!”

Sigrid helped Vera out of her armor, mindful of her tender shoulder, and into the washtub. Vera's scars told the story of a veteran. Her fingers of her right hand were calloused, her arms toned, from years of wielding a bow. An old silver scar raked over the span of three ribs on her right side. Smaller ones on her shins and knees above where her greaves would have stopped. Two more silver scars, one on either side of her left shoulder sat just above her collarbone. Entrance and exit wounds from an arrow, plain as day. She felt pity that the woman before her had seen so much violence in her young life.

She held Vera’s braids, assessing them in her hands. Her waist length braids had been singed and so matted, “There is no salvaging them, Vera.” She sighed “They have to go.” Vera regretfully nodded, and Sigrid retrieved a dagger from a nearby chest. As Sigrid sawed through her hair, it hurt. Vera knew it was just hair, though her vanity was lamenting the loss of her braids.

Staring at her reflection in the bathwater, gone were the rounded cheeks and doe eyes of youth. High cheekbones emphasizing the height of her face. Droplets of water were caught in her slender brows; one shimmered brightly upon the subtle arch. she raked her finger through her newly shorn hair; her hand stopped abruptly as she reached the ends. She had never worn her hair this short. It would have saddened her mother to see her dampened black waves barely touching her shoulders. Her mother’s voice echoed, “We may be poor, but we have to look our best at all times.” She could almost feel that boar-bristle brush as it was combing through her curls.

Vera shook the memories from her mind and dried herself off. She dressed in a blue wool dress with a brown leather underbust corset. She came upstairs to find Sigrid and Hadvar sitting in front of the hearth. Hadvar motioned to a stool next to him. She took his invitation and sat down.

“You know, Hadvar, there, was a handful as a boy.” Sigrid teased

“No, aunt. Please, don’t” he complained.

“He used to run around this very room in nothing but his smallclothes, Alvor’s boots,” she started. Hadvar blushed beet red and hid his face in his hand. “and a dented iron helm with a cloak tied around his shoulders. He would defend me from imaginary trolls while brandishing his wooden sword like the heroes of old.”

He sheepishly nodded that it was the truth.

Vera and Sigrid cackled. When Vera caught her breath, she looked at her, “Thank you for your family’s hospitality, Sigrid. The stew was delicious. It tasted exactly like my mother’s.”

“Your mother was a Nord?”

“Yes. Hana, a bard who fell in love with an Imperial soldier with kind eyes.” Vera hinted towards Hadvar. “She followed him back to his hometown; then I came along into the world shortly after that. My father was killed-in-action when I was 12. She never remarried. She passed away two years ago.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that.” Sigrid expressed genuine sympathy.

“Yes, she was a good woman. A good woman” Vera stared into the hearth, her mother’s face beamed back at her from the embers.  
Hadvar and his aunt continued their small talk. Sometime later, perhaps minutes or hours, struggling to stay awake, her vision darkening on the edges, Vera yawned drowsily.

“Oh dear, you must be tired!” Sigrid put down her mug of tea and retrieved two bedrolls from a wardrobe. She led Vera and Hadvar downstairs and helped them both settled in for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and suggestions welcome


	5. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering in Riverwood

The rest of the week was rather quotidian. Vera would rise early collect eggs and to help Sigrid with breakfast. Now that her shoulder didn’t painfully protest too much, Vera had gone hunting the day before and brought back a brace of rabbits. She still wasn’t accustomed to the shortness of her hair, but Sigrid showed her how to wear it in the Nordic style, half up / half down, with braids framing her face. Her hair color and olive complexion still marked her as a foreigner, but Hadvar didn’t seem to mind. More than once, she had caught him looking at her when he thought she wasn't aware.

Vera sold the bear pelts and meat, and spellbook sold for enough coin to afford civilian leather armor. A second-hand set, but it would keep her guts where they belonged. This kit was a marked improvement over the ill-fitting, haphazard armor she arrived in. A fact for which she was grateful. Though a loyal citizen who already had dutifully served the Empire, it was not the smartest idea to wander Skyrim in Imperial armor amidst a raging civil war.

She crossed the dirt road and headed to the forge. Alvor’s hammer beat a steady rhythm on his anvil. The bellows huffed the embers of the forge to white-hot flames. Sweat trickled pathways through the grime coating his brow and muscular arms. Vera sat down on the porch of his home and asked: “Do you have any supplies I can take?”

“You thinking of leaving soon, Vera?" wiping his hands on his apron. "I'm glad to help in any way I can. Help yourself to whatever you need, within reason. But I need your help. We need your help. The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless...You need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf to send whatever soldiers he can. If you do this for me, I'll be in your debt."

“I’m not from Skyrim.” She reminded him “How do I get to Whiterun from here?”

"Cross the river and then head north. You'll see it, just past the falls. When you get to Whiterun, just keep going up. When you get to the top of the hill, you're at Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace. Hadvar will show you."

“What can you tell me about the Jarl?”

"Jarl Balgruuf? He rules Whiterun Hold. A good man, perhaps a bit over-cautious, but these are dangerous times. So far he's managed to stay out of the war. I'm afraid it can't last, though, because I don't think he likes either Ulfric or Elisif much. Who can blame him? But I've no doubt he'll prove loyal to the Empire in the end. He's no traitor."

“What do you think about the war?” she asked with trepidacious caution. Political discussions were risky, but she asked out of genuine curiosity. This province wasn’t her homeland, but what kind of scout would she be without doing a little reconnaissance on the locals?

"People are rightly stirred up about the damn Thalmor being allowed to roam around arresting people, sometimes in the middle of the night, just for worshipping Talos. But was it worth tearing Skyrim apart, and maybe destroying the Empire? No, Ulfric will have a lot to answer for in the end. Nords have always supported the Empire, and the Empire has always been good for Skyrim. Bah, enough politics, Vera. Let me show you a few tricks of my trade, hmm?”

Vera was no artisan by any stretch of the imagination, but she obliged the kind blacksmith. It never hurt anyone to know how to better fit one’s armor or repair a weapon. She came away from that lesson with a sharpened iron dagger, and he helped her forge a steel stiletto, which was now sheathed in her newly modified right boot.

Later that afternoon, Vera held Dorthe’s rapt attention, which was no small feat unto itself. “Now hold the shaft. Like this,” Vera told Dorthe as she held the arrow shaft to the bench and split the end. “And then, slip the arrowhead in. Careful, it’s sharp! Firmly hold the shaft while I wind.” Dorthe’s slender fingers pinched the split wood as Vera affixed the head to the shaft. “Good job!” she assessed the little girl's work.

“Hello, ladies.” Hadvar greeted warmly as Dorthe giggled. “Vera, I’m headed to the tavern. One last night before we head to Whiterun in the morning. Care to join me?” he invited.  
Nights at the Sleeping Giant had become a frequent pastime during their convalescence. They had bonded over pints of mead and swapping war stories. Vera kept the darkest ones locked away to herself, but found solace in sharing good memories with a fellow soldier.

“I’ve meant to ask you. How is all this civil war start?” Vera drank deeply from her tankard.

“It's pretty simple. Ulfric founded the Stormcloaks years ago, as a sort of private army to advance his ambitions. He's always used the ban on the worship of Talos to stir people up animosity. I guess that wasn't such a big deal elsewhere in the Empire, but here it's caused a lot of resentment. Native son and all that. Ulfric never succeeded in getting much support, so a few months ago he murdered the High King! He claims to be fighting for Skyrim's freedom, but the war is all about Ulfric wanting to be High King of Skyrim. He blames the Emperor for kowtowing to the Thalmor. If the Emperor hadn't signed the peace treaty with the Thalmor, they would have destroyed the Empire - then where would Skyrim be? That's the part that Ulfric's supporters always conveniently forget about. Unless the Empire stands together, the Thalmor will destroy us all.” Hadvar beckoned the barmaid for another round.

“How did the Imperial army come to capture Ulfric?”

"A masterstroke by General Tullius!” Hadvar raised his tankard high. Vera toasted. “He's only been in charge here for a few months, but he's turned things around for the Empire. We've been trying to catch Ulfric since the war started, but he always seemed to slip through our fingers... like he knew we were coming. This time, the General turned the tables on him. Ulfric rode right into our ambush with only a few bodyguards. He surrendered pretty meekly, too. So much for his death-or-glory reputation.” he rolled his eye before taking another drink “I thought we were taking Ulfric back to Cyrodiil, but I guess the General changed his mind. You know the rest." he waved his tankard in Vera’s direction. "What do you think about it all?"

"The world's got enough trouble in it." Vera sighed heavily.

Changing the subject, Havar began a story, “I remember hazing this greenhorn recruit. One of the older Corporals looked over at the Private and asked him where his rank was on his lapel. The Private stated he didn't have any rank because he was brand new. The Corporal convinced him that there were insignias that Privates were supposed to wear on their lapel so they could be easily identified. The Private” Hadvar chuckled, “spent the next two hours arguing with the Quartermaster about how he needed his insignia before he gave up” Hadvar roared with laughter and Vera clapped his shoulder. She was familiar with that prank, having fallen for it herself as a gullible recruit.

Sensing it was her turn to share, she spoke nostalgically, “Gunmar was a great, bearded hulk of a Nord. Great at splitting skulls and kicking down doors. No clue how he ended up with us, but he saved my life more than once.” Her smile reached her eyes as she took another swig.

“You’re so beautiful when you smile” Hadvar commented.

“Aww, Hadvar.” she playfully swatted his arm “You’re so sweet when you’re drunk.” She tried to hide her attraction behind the rim of her tankard.

“Ahem, back to Gunmar” Hadvar squirmed

“Oh right, Gunmar...yeah. He had a tolerance for mead like I’ve never seen before or since. This one time, after a mission, me and the other two auxiliaries, Ghislaine and Daron, foolishly tried to keep up after Gunmar had bet us he could drink one pint to each of our half pints. Our Quaestor was fuming when he discovered his best recon team passed out under the tables. And there was Gunmar, roaring at the barmaid for another pitcher!”

Vera laughed until she tears in her eyes. She hadn’t thought about those times in so long. Her happy thoughts were hampered with the replay of her squad’s deaths. It had not been mercifully clean ones. Nor was it an honorable way to die. Bandits ambushed her team. Gunmar: a poison dagger to the back. He lingered two days before succumbing. Ghislaine, a gregarious Breton, her throat was slit from ear to ear. Daron. Handsome, kind, loving. Daron...he took a fatal arrow for Vera. If only she had loosed her arrows sooner. Maybe he’d still be alive. Perhaps they would all still be alive. Vera’s eyes glazed over in a thousand yard stare.

“Hey.” Hadvar shook her shoulder gently, “Vera.”

“Sorry. I just miss them.” returning to the present, Vera took an unsteady breath, shaking the dark thoughts away. "You think General Tullius knows where that dragon came from?"

"No. Not yet. After all, a dragon. Some thing out of old tales and legends, no one could have expected that. But you can bet he'll be trying to figure it out. This event could shift the whole balance of the war. If you want to help stop that dragon, your best bet is to go to Solitude and join up with the Legion."

"General Tullius ordered my execution!” she looked indignant. “Why would I want to help him?"

"No, the Captain did. And I don't blame you for being angry about it. I would be, too, in your shoes. But it was all a mistake. You weren't supposed to be in that cart with those Stormcloak traitors. And the Imperial Legion needs your help, especially now, with that dragon out there somewhere, and Ulfric back on the loose."

"I'll have to think about it," Vera replied pensively.

"Sure, I understand. It's not easy to go from being executed by the Legion one day to joining up the next. But I think you'll see that the Legion is Skyrim's only hope for real peace right now. I know you'll make the right choice in the end."

“Well, I’m going to call it a night. Thanks, friend.” she wobbly stood up from the barstool. Hadvar steadied her as best as his inebriated state would allow and walked her to the door. His hand lingered a little too long about her waist, yet he didn’t pull her back from leaving. His eyes watched her retreating form merge with the shadows as he was mentally kicking himself for letting her go. Tomorrow morning. He’d make his move tomorrow morning.

Vera waved goodnight as she tipsily sauntered back across the road. She turned once more to flirtatiously smile at him before closing Alvor’s door behind her. She carefully tiptoed down the stairs and collapsed into her bedroll.


	6. South by Southeast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moves are made. There's no turning back now.
> 
> "Hin sil fen nahkip bahlok, Dovakhiin!" = Your soul will feed my hunger

“YOL! TOOR! SHUL!” Inescapable firestorms surrounded her. Immolated screams echoed from all directions. Burning chaos rained down from the heavens. A large winged reptile crashed to the ground; the very soilemotionaltrembling beneath its thunderous steps. Its obsidian scales glinting in the towering flames. "Hin sil fen nahkip back, Dovakhiin!" the high dragon snarled as his enormous jaws engulfed her.

Vera snapped awake, panting wildly in a cold sweat. Usually drinking herself into a stupor every night kept the nightmares of Helgen at bay. Not this time. What she needed was somewhere far, far away. Away from dragons. She certainly had her fill with war, so she wasn't going to involve herself that mess. She resolved to put as much distance between her and that black-winged demon as she possibly could.

She calmed herself, focusing on her breathing. Slowly in. Slowly out. “I’m alive. I’m somewhere safe. No harm will come to me now.” She repeated to herself. The panic and anxiety faded enough for her to note slivers of morning light glinting through the floorboards above. She planted her feet on the stone floor, silently cursing how cold it was in Skyrim. Divines, how she missed the warmer climes of her Imperial home. She shivered as she hurriedly, but quietly dressed. She didn’t want to wake the whole household. 

Dorthe, the blacksmith’s daughter, had garnered a soft spot in her heart. She showed a knack for archery, not unlike Vera when she was her age. Though, her sneak skills could use some…no, a lot of work. Vera stifled a laugh to herself remembering Dorthe’s blundered attempt to stalk the old broody hen for dinner one night. It flew away squawking and roosted in a tree beyond the poor girl’s reach.  
  


Furthermore, Alvor had mentioned taking on an additional apprentice. He offered it to Vera, thinking she had potential. Sigrid wasn’t too keen on the idea, but Alvor said she’d get used to it.

Then, she thought of Hadvar. She didn’t think she could face him before she left. Those sweet, kind eyes which showed her sympathy when no one else did. The dutiful soldier, he would be better off without her. Her heart broke a little.

“You’re a coward” She chastised herself. “He would only ask me to stay. I saw ‘the look’ in his eyes last night. Granted we were both drunk, but I know smitten when I see it. Even sober he had those, what did Mama call them? Puppy dog eyes. But, Mama fell for a soldier with kind eyes. And look what it got us? Nothing but poverty and heartache.” Her inner arguments continued raging as she bent to gather her few possessions into her knapsack.

Unseen and unheard, Hadvar had already been awake for a few hours. He had not fully dressed yet, though he had filled the water skins from the stream behind the house. He had also fixed a coldcut breakfast of bread, cheese, and smoked venison. He made his way downstairs to wake Vera to get an early start towards Whiterun. Seeing that she was awake and packing, he silently crept behind her and tapped her shoulder.

“By the Eight!” she cried nearly jumping out of her skin. She whirled on her heel as she drew her dagger. Its point was squarely in the center of Hadvar’s chest, where a shallow cut was now bleeding.

“Hey! Whoa, there! Easy. I didn’t mean to scare you” he placated.

She gave an apologetic expression and sheathed her weapon. She gingerly dabbed a clean rag from the nightstand to his chest. Hadvar’s hand closed around hers. Though they were both sober now, he felt emboldened by her touch. He leaned in close enough to see his reflection in her steel-gray eyes, close enough feel her warm breath on his face. Throwing caution to the wind, Hadvar kissed her. Tentatively at first, then with full abandon.

Vera tried to give herself over to the passion, but memories raged. Daron. The last man who kissed her liked that was Daron. Her skin tingled at the ghost of a forgotten touch. Daron was dead because of her. Vera panicked and broke away breathless.

Hadvar entwined his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her in for another kiss... only to be stopped by Vera’s finger on his lips.

“Can I ask you something Hadvar?” she whispered, willing herself to speak.

“And what would that be?” his reply full of anticipation.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself for what would be an incredibly difficult question to ask.

“What’s the furthest city to the south?” She gently pushed him away. She couldn't lead him on when she had already made up her mind to leave; she convinced herself clean breaks always healed the easiest.

“That’d be Riften” he defeatedly sighed, raking his fringes out of his face. He stepped back to lean on the stone foundation wall behind him. “But that’s not where we’re going. We’re going to Whiterun today, remember?”

“How do I get there?” she asked avoiding his gaze.

He brought her over to a map on the table pointing out the road to Riften. “It’s a week’s travel to the south and east. You take the bypass road around the base of High Hrothgar to Ivarstead,” his finger traced the road “Then follow the river road west.” again his fingers outlined the river’s path passing over two lakes to the walls of the city. He grasped both her hands “But Riften is a den of thieves, thugs, and scoundrels; no one in their right mind would go there. ”

“Then, since I’m most definitely not in my right mind, that’s where I need to go.”

“What on Nirn do you mean by that?” A befuddled look on his face.

“The dreams are worsening, Hadvar.” she pleaded “That dragon doesn’t roar. It talks. Like you and I! He said he wants to eat my soul!” she shuddered. “I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me. You’ll have to deliver that message to Whiterun and Solitude. Alone.”

Vera hoped that would discourage him from following as she resolutely threw her pack over shoulder. She donned her sword belt, bow, and adjusted her quiver. Hadvar made to stand in her way, but she squirmed out his grasp, ran up the stairs, and out of the dwelling.

Hadvar clambered to the road, calling after her the whole way, “Vera! This is madness! The damn Stormcloaks could be anywhere. Come back! Vera!”

Ignoring Hadvar’s pleas, she kept walking. Like the arrows she loosed, she had chosen a target, and there was no turning back. If Hadvar could have seen her face, he would have seen the tears streaming down.


	7. Road to Ivarstead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road to Ivarstead

Vera’s frustrated breath billowed white puffs as she struck her flint over the pile of kindling and tundra cotton. She exclaimed triumph as a spark took hold and grew into a steady blaze. She warmed her hands over her small campfire. She set to work skinning the rabbit she had hunted. She took a deep breath. You can do this. You’ve done it dozens of times before. She repeated inwardly while shoving her hand inside its still warm cavity and pulling out its viscera. She suppressed a gag as she carried the steaming offal to a stream about 100 feet away from her campsite.

She washed the blood from her hands in the stream. The crimson rivulets carried away on the currents. Vera felt a bead of sweat roll down her right temple as her wide eyes stared down her blood-soaked hands. Her heart was jackhammering in her chest. Flashes of steel and echoes of battle cries. Gunmar...Ghislaine...Daron. He stepped in front of her so fast. The gravel grated her knees as she careened over to where Daron had fallen. There was too much blood; she pressed her hands to his wound. She couldn’t staunch the bleeding. Daron placed his hands on hers. “Vera...I...Iove…y...” he gasped. Tears welled up in her eyes. Panic in her chest squeezed heart. No, no, no! She cradled him as the light faded from his eyes.

A salmon jumped from the stream pool. Its loud splash snapped Vera back to the present. I’m alive. I’m safe. No harm will come to me now,

Her anxious breath slowing, Vera stood shakily and returned to her fire. Soon, she had the scrawny rodent was roasting on a makeshift skewer. Not much meat on the creature, mostly gristle, but a welcome change to the berries and mushrooms she had been eating. Her hunger pains subsided as she picked morsels off the carcass. It had been a mistake not to pack more of the smoked venison or dried fish from Alvor’s. Then again, she and Hadvar had been planning to only go to Whiterun. There, they would have bought more substantial supplies before heading to Solitude. Their first stop was just a day’s walk from Riverwood. Riften was a week’s journey in the opposite direction.

She stretched out leaning back on her elbows. She pulled off her muddy boots one at a time and rolled her ankles. Her left foot was sore. A nasty blister rubbed raw on her heel. “This is why I hate new gear,” Vera grumbled to no one. Rummaging through her pack, she took grasped what she was looking for. She uncorked small red glass bottle, knowing she’d have to ration her supplies. Taking a dose now for minuscule injury would be self-indulgent; however, she tipped it to lips and took a modest nip. Its therapeutic effects rippled throughout her body and soothed her aches.

The cold wind whipped through her dark hair. Gooseflesh danced across her skin. She pushed her braids back behind her ears, and she stared at the swirling white clouds above High Hrothgar. Something up there on that glistening snow-capped peak called to her.

No, Riften was her destination. Vera wrapped her woolen cloak tighter herself and reclined against the granite wall. Before she fell asleep, an almost imperceptible voice …Dovakiin the wind seem to hiss.

Leathery wings and meteors of fire faded to black as Vera bolted awake, a scream halfway in her throat. The thunderous shouts of the dragon replaced by the sound of songbirds in the surrounding trees. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and pushed the nightmares back into the abyss. She then ate the last remaining tidbits of the rabbit before breaking camp. She noted how the evergreen conifers had given way to aspen trees aflame with autumn colors. Skyrim truly was beautiful. The scenery eased her worried mind, and she focused on her steps. One foot in front of the other. Steady on, until her foot caught on a root poking out of the ground and she pitched forward, crashing down the side of the hill. The world was violently tumbling around her, she came to a rolling halt in the muddy shallows of the river with a shocked yelp. The gravel bit into her hands and knees as she pushed herself off the ground when she heard a low growl. She froze and looked up, slowly.

A ragged Timberwolf stood just up the bank, hunched over the remains of an elk carcass. It was mangy and covered with filth, the fur stiff along its spine with its teeth bared. Despite its ill-ridden state, he was twice as terrifying as a Common Wolf and twice as quick to pounce. Vera scrabbled backward and got to her feet just as the snarling beast cannoned into her. Vera shrieked as she thumped to the ground, a rock jamming into her shoulder. The Timberwolf was a stinking shadow of fur and snarling fangs above her; she bunched her hands into its neck fur to hold it up. It was all she could do to keep it from tearing her face apart. The smell of fetid breath, tainted further by the metallic stench of blood, rose bile in the back of Vera’s throat. Desperately, she reached around with one hand, feeling for a rock or something with weight to stagger the writhing monster on her chest. Her fingers closed around a piece of driftwood, and she swung her hand up, driving the crumbling wood into the side of the wolf’s head. The dazed wolf leaped off her, shaking his head clear, then glared at Vera with menacing yellow eyes. It was like looking into a mirror – the same desperate urge to survive.

The wolf lunged as Vera’s hand closed around her dagger.

It felt like hours before Vera came to. She found herself kneeling on the ground in front of the wolf’s corpse, her clothes and skin streaked with blood. Vera felt the dagger in her hand and looked at it, seeing it buried in the wolf’s neck. The animal lay dead, its eyes sightless, a gaping hole was torn into its side where she’d stabbed in a blind rage. Vera leaned over and puked into the mud, realization striking her like a war hammer. She felt like she was mind was floating, but her body was heavy and thick. Crawling away from the mutilated body, she sloshed on hand and knee into the river and scrubbed her face and arms, frightened mewls escaping her as she struggled to wipe away all the red. The metallic tang seemed to stick in her throat, and her stomach heaved again. Her eyes watered and she sobbed, clutching her face in trembling hands.

She listlessly walked for several hours before coming to a signpost, which pointed the way to Ivarstead. Thank the divines! A gleeful thought tore through her mind; A town means a tavern with warm food and a real bed! Vera shoved her hands into her pockets. Her right hand clasped around her small leather coin purse, in which she just remembered held only five septums.

Well, shit.

That rabbit pelt wasn’t going to be worth two septums, though she could press for four if she held out during the bargaining. Nine septums....Still not enough for supplies, room, and board. Maybe there’s an odd job or two in town. Someone always needs help with something, She mused.

The dirt path widened to a cobblestone road. It was twilight when Vera could smell the wood smoke on the breeze before she was able to see its wispy gray columns rising from the chimneys in the last rays of the sunset. Just the other side of a stone bridge, half a dozen stone cottages dotted its main thoroughfare. A large waterwheel churned in the river. The most significant wooden structure must be the tavern, she guessed.

She steadied herself on the lamppost as she scraped her dirty boots on the bottom step before entering the Vilemyr Inn. The blonde barmaid was singing a ditty as she carried her tray around the room. “Lynly, fetch me another pint!” one patron slurred. He wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Oh no, you don’t, Barknar.” She laughed and wriggled from his grasp “I think you’ve had enough. I’ll fetch you water instead.” Seeing Vera in the doorway, she welcomed her in. “We’ve got food for the hungry. Drink for the thirsty. If it’s a room you need, see Wilhelm behind the bar.”

Vera shook the cold out of her bones before sitting on a stool at the of the end of the bar.

“The meals I serve aren’t exactly what I’d call a Jarl’s feast, but they’ll fill your belly.”

“Water, please.” The evening meal on the hearth made her stomach growl. Wilhelm must have heard because he served her water with a plate of bread and cheese. “On the house.”

“Thank you. Know where I can find some work around here?”

“Temba is always looking for help at the mill.” he wiped a tankard clean. “It’s harvest time, so Fellstar Farm needs some extra hands. And there are bounties from the Jarl are posted over there, if you’re interested.” nodding towards some official decrees nailed to the wall near the door.

Vera finished her plate and took her tea when she to a stool closer to the hearth in the center of the room. The barroom filled with villagers as the evening progressed. Though it would be so easy for her to work the room, cut their purses, and walk away richer, she wouldn’t allow herself to do it. No, these are good, hardworking people.

After her father’s death at Fort Amol, she knew what it was like to grow up poor, not knowing where or if her next meal would come. A soldier’s pension and her mother’s inconsistent wages as a bard made ends meet. Barely. What money wasn’t spent on food or rent, funded Vera’s education. It all came to an abrupt and violent end. When she was fifteen, her mother was nearly beaten to death by a tavern patron. Vera vowed to find another way to support them both. Larceny had been a means to an end: survival.

She would need to earn some coin. The honest way.

“I hear there’s treasure in that barrow on the hill” She heard a nearby younger man in traveling gear say.

“If I were you,” a local farmer warned “I’d stay away from Shroud Hearth. It’s haunted” she shivered.

Or not.


	8. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera goes grave robbing in Shroud Hearth Barrow

Upon entering the deathly quiet crypt, She heard an ominous voice echo from the darkness “LEAVE...LEAVE THIS PLACE!” it warned. Though frightened, Vera pressed on and crept to a threeway intersection. Her footfalls as silent as the wingbeats of an owl upon the night air.

The way forward was blocked by a rusted iron gate. Seeing no lock to pick Vera guessed that there had to be some mechanism to operate the gate somewhere in the inky blackness beyond her torchlight. Searching for a lever, handle, or a button, her torchlight revealed mummified human remains. It's twisted, shriveled face aghast, agape, and centimeters away from hers. She jumped back, a scream halfway escaping her throat. Her heart still racing, she found four levers and pulled. A deafening metallic crash slammed a hidden gate closed behind her, Ok, so the Nords boobytrap their mausoleums. Good to know. She thought sardonically

She tried another setting. Darts whizzed past her head causing her to duck out of the way. Wrong Combination. Got it. Her third attempt triggered long neglected gears screeching and turning. The machinations opened not only the gate in front of her but also the original portcullis.

“LEAVE...LEAVE THIS PLACE!” This time the warning voice was accompanied by a spectral apparition of a man in furs. Vera tiptoed forward from the antechamber and was immediately sent flying into a wall. Electricity seized her body, painfully locking her every muscle. Dazed, she collapsed to the floor, her skin still cringing from the aftershocks of the spell. The phantom stalked closer and closer, he sneered brandishing his etereal sword. Vera pulled the stiletto from her boot and threw, striking the specter in the throat, just above its collarbone.

The spectral apparition emitted a gasping gurgle collapsing against the vault wall behind it. The spell dissipated revealing not a ghost, but a male dunmer mage. Vera felt the bile surge within her, and she heaved. Every. Damn. Time. She thought, wiping the vomit from her chin.

A familiar voice, not her own, spoke invading her thoughts. Her father’s voice. Only beasts kill without remorse. A square-jawed kind face, blurred around the edges, smiled in Vera's mind. She remembered how eyes, the same stormcloud-colored eyes as hers, shined as he placed her first bow in her awaiting palms. This is not a toy, Vera. When you aim, know that you hold a life in your sights. Only a beast kills without remorse.

Vera staggered to her feet. She knelt beside the mage’s corpse, his golden eyes stared into nothingness; his grey skin and fur armor stained dark crimson below his fatal wound. Her stiletto squelched as she removed it from his throat. "I’m sorry," she whispered closing his lifeless eyes. She found his laboratory further in, potions and spellbooks strewed about the small room. Vera took the healing potions and the apothecary's satchel. The mage’s journal chronicled his downward spiral into madness, how he had become obsessed with a strange puzzle door hidden somewhere within the barrow.

She came upon that very same door mentioned in the mage’s journal at the end of a corridor. Vera’s torch hinted at mysteries beneath the mold and cobwebs. The corridor’s walls adorned with engravings of what appeared to be priests and dragons, the spaces between filled with indecipherable inscriptions in some ancient unintelligible tongue. The passage thrummed with primeval magic. As if entranced, she reached her hand out to trace an obscured carving on the door. A small voice whispered to Vera from behind that great, cold stone. She jerked her hand away and shook away the fog from her mind. This shit is weird. Vera thought.

Another passageway branched off of the antechamber. This route ended at a locked cast iron door sculpted in dragons. Vera knelt in front of the doorframe this time for a trap trigger. When she didn’t see one, she set work picking its lock. Its rusted tumblers fought her, though eventually, they surrendered with a satisfying thunk. The storeroom beyond contained a moldy, rotten wood chest. From its decayed remains, Vera plucked a glint of tarnished silver. She rubbed her thumb across its dingy surface revealing a circular pendant embossed with a dragon, wings outstretched, wreathed in flame.


	9. The Kindness of a Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera meets Brynjolf

Braziers dimly lit the streets of Riften, bathing a log building in the central plaza in orange light whose sign read THE BEE AND BARB. A small group of revelers spilled out of its double doors on to the street, nearly trampling Vera. She, utterly exhausted from her travels and aching terribly from her injuries, trudges up to the tavern door and, with a steadying breath, crosses the threshold into the crowded barroom. Vera was greeted by the raucous singing of drinking songs and clinking tankards. The female Argonian barkeep paused bussing a nearby table and judging the ramshackle state of Vera’s kit; she brusquely addressed her, “If you’ve got the coin, you’re welcome here. Otherwise hit the road.” she said pointing out the door.

Vera sighed, knowing she must look like a penniless vagabond, her boots caked in mud and road dust high on her cloak. She reached for the pouch at her hip holding her last coins. She was aware that it did not contain enough for full room and board, but perhaps a crust of bread and chair near the hearth. However, before she could reach her hand to her coin purse, another purse sailed through the air into the barkeep's reptilian claws. The metallic coins clinked as she counted. Satisfied with the amount, she then directed the pair to an open table.

Vera looked to see from where the other purse had appeared.  She turned to face a Nord man standing behind her, dressed in a dark woolen cloak clasped over a black doublet. Her eyes fell to the ebony daggers and sword at his hips. A mysterious silver sigil on embossed on each scabbard. A circle encased within a diamond gleamed in the sconce lights. His auburn waves fell to his broad shoulders with fringe to just beneath his strong jaw, with shimmering emerald eyes and disarming smile.“Thank you…” her voice trailing off, realizing she didn’t know his name.

“Name’s Brynjolf, lass. And you’re welcome.” Though his words were genuine, he seemed to be sizing her up as his gaze glossed over her from head to toe.

“I’m Vera Laenius.” she suddenly felt self-conscious under his evaluative scrutiny. She nervously twirled a braid through her fingers, fidgeting with the silver bead on the end.

“Well, Vera Laenius, so that you know, I wasn’t looking to buy a lady’s company tonight, so don't feel like you owe me anything. If you want me to get lost, say the word.” His lilting accent not dissimilar to her mother's.

Vera didn’t refuse his kindness or his company; there was something indescribably disarming about his charm. Soon tankards of ale, two steaming bowls of beef stew, and half a loaf of bread were set on the table before them. Vera nearly forgot her manners as she greedily devoured her meal. She had eaten nothing but berries, mushrooms, and one scrawny rabbit on the road from Ivarstead. And all that was two days ago.

“You eat like you’ve been a little light on coin lately, lass.” he chuckled.

She dabbed her napkin to her chin, partially covering her mouth mid-bite. “I’m sorry, What?” Vera arched her brow at him.

“Your pockets. They’re a little low on coin. I can tell.” he surmised.

She leaned in, her voice in a harsh whisper “How could you possibly know that?”

“It’s all about sizing up your mark, lass” he explained “It’s in the way they walk, what they’re wearing. It’s a dead giveaway.”

“Like how so?” she undoubtedly questioned.

“Like your accent pegs you as raised south of Imperial City, I’d reckon? Served in the Scouts, too, which explains that bow you’re carrying. You’re favoring your left foot when you walk because new boots are hell to break in, and the mud caked on them tells me you came through Ivarstead recently. Though your boots are new, the rest of your gear is secondhand. Doesn’t seem to have been made for you either. You fidget with that braid behind your ear, a sign you’re not used to the way you're wearing your hair. A recent change, perhaps? Did I miss anything?” he smiled smugly.

“Alright. Alright. You’ve proved your point.” Vera conceded. “But why intervene back there? It was none of your business.”

“That’s where you're wrong, Vera. What happens in Riften IS my business.” the dangerous edge to Brynjolf’s voice appeared and faded so quickly, she doubted her ears. “Maybe you’d like to join up?” again turning on his disarming charm.

Vera surreptitiously glanced around the barroom, “You don't even know who I am. Why would you want to hire me?”

“Call it a hunch, lass.”

Vera had no other means of income, she thought before leaning in to test the waters, “Hypothetically speaking, what did you have in mind?”

“I’ve got a bit of an errand to perform, but I need an extra pair of hands. Extra hands, in my line of work, are well-paid.”

“I’m listening. What do you need me to do?”

“I haven’t said I’m going to hire you yet, lass. Hypothetically speaking, tomorrow morning, I might need to cause a distraction in the marketplace. And you,” pointing at her, “ may or may not steal Madesi’s silver ring from a strongbox under his stall.”

Out of thin air, Brynjolf dangled her silver amulet from his fingers. The very one she had discovered from Shroud Hearth Barrow.

“Hey, that’s mine!” she petulantly tried to grab it back from him, but it disappeared from her grasp.

“If you obtain the ring, I might want you to plant it in Brand-Shei’s pocket without him noticing. Speaking of,” He nodded his chin toward Vera’s cloak “check yours.”

Vera reached into her cloak to feel a cool metallic pendant. She stared in disbelief as she pulled its tarnished chain from her pocket.

“What the...How did…?” She attempted to question Brynjolf, but he pushed his chair in as he stood to leave. He swaggered his way over to the bar and dropped another purse into the barkeeper’s claws.

Either he’s an excellent tipper or the smarmy bastard just paid for my room tonight, too, she wondered. Her hunch was right. The barkeep approached to bus the table and handed her a key. “Your bed’s upstairs and straight ahead. It’s yours for a day.”

Brynjolf man winked and flashed his most charming smirk at Vera as he disappeared out the door just as effortlessly as he had appeared.

Vera wearily climbed the stairs to her room. The lock clicked open, and its hinges squealed as she entered the room. She locked the door from the inside. Click! Thud! Locking both the deadbolt and sliding bolt. She unceremoniously dropped her possessions on the floor next to the dresser.

She peeled off her armor and undressed down to her undershirt and collapsed bonelessly into bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Vera again had to repeat her mantra in the morning to shake off her nightmares. She calmed herself by taking in her surroundings and recounting the more pleasant parts of the night before. She chuckled. She stopped laughing when she saw the bandages, potion, and parchment on the nightstand next to the bed, a note scrawled in a masculine script. If her mother were alive, she has told Vera to pick her jaw up off the floor.

“You’re hired. Find me in the marketplace. Eight o’clock sharp.- Brynjolf”


	10. The Setup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera's first job is to make sure Brand-Shei learns not to mess with The Guild.

The blacksmith's anvil was ringing as he worked the steel as Vera browsed his workshop. He noticed the attractive Imperial stranger."Come to see Balimund perform miracles with steel, eh?" he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Vera used the opportunity for small talk to calm her nerves. "The war must be good for your business."

"Bah... some might accuse me of profiteering" he groused "but I think they'd change their minds when one of my shields blocks a killing blow. Or when my armor keeps their guts where they belong."

Her eyes spotted something on an armor stand behind him. The tooling on the dark brown leather cuirass, cuisses, and boots nearly took her breath away. "Your leatherwork is exquisite." Her fingers enviously twitched as she caressed the stitching of the sets matching bracers. No. His skill was well-worth her honest patronage.

"I do custom orders of all kinds." Balimund said, gesturing towards his leather tools "Let me know if you like what you see." He picked up his hammer and the sword hilt he had been working again.

"I would like something like this set here, but I'm afraid it'll have to wait for another day." She smiled as she left and made a mental note to order when she could afford it.

Vera strolled further into the market plaza feigning interest in the wares on display. When her pockets were this low on coin, her fingers itched. At age sixteen, her final arrest for petty larceny caused her involuntary enlistment. A stab of conscience twinged deep down within her as she enviously eyed the merchandise. She felt ashamed that compunction had never indeed left her.

Brynjolf’s voice cut through the mercantile clamor. “Falmer Blood Elixir, a miracle cure-all to whatever ails you" he purported from inside his stall " Might I interest you, milady?” Vera gave the appearance of a curious customer as she inspected a vial on his counter. She sniffed an uncorked sample. The overly mossy scent was masking what was essentially watered-down cheap wine mixed with a minor healing potion. A clever ruse to the undiscerning customer. In a hushed voice, she asked, “Why exactly would I frame Brand-Shei?” continuing to peruse the bottles.

“He crossed someone and that someone hired me. He’ll get his head on straight after sitting in jail for a few days. That’s all you need to know.” He furtively pointed to the right of the plaza. “Madesi is the jeweler. Brand-Shei, the dark elf, is on the left. Meet me on the bridge in front of the Bee and Barb afterward. Are you ready, lass?” He palmed a lockpick and placed it in her hand. The whole motion nimbly disguised as Vera setting a bottle back on the shelf.

Vera nodded. She knew what she was going to do was wrong, and she couldn’t deny the small pangs of guilt, but she needed the money. Her target acquired, she prepared to play her part. “No, sir. I don’t think I’m interested.” and she casually walked away. She slipped behind some crates to await her signal.

“Everyone, gather round! ” Brynjolf took center stage and launched into a captivating spiel expounding the benefits of his potion. With all eyes on him, Vera waited for the patrolman to pass by before she crouched, her heart pounding in her ears. Adrenaline was rising, hands trembling, she jimmied the lock on Madesi’s strongbox. The mechanism softly clicked open revealing its lustrous contents. Seeing the silver signet she was after, she rapidly stuck it in her pocket. She completed phase one of the plans in the knick of time. A second patrolman walked by. Her heart dropped. Thinking quickly, she pretended to adjust her boot then calmly stood to listen to Brynjolf’s pitch, with the law none the wiser.

She meandered to Brand-Shei, taking up position behind him. Her fingers toyed with the stolen ring inside her pocket while she looked him up and down. This is just like cutting purses, but in reverse, she assured herself. Nothing to it. She saw her opportunity when she noted his belt pouch was unfastened. “Pardon me.“ she apologized as she shouldered past him, the silver signet ring now planted on his person.

At their designated meeting place and place, Vera and Brynjolf watched the aftermath unfold. Madesi made such a racket when he discovered his signet missing that the patrol came to investigate his accusations of Brand-Shei, who proclaimed his innocence even after he was frisked and ring found on him. They could still hear his tantrums from two blocks away as he was hauled away to jail.

“Don’t worry—I’ll let all the important people know who to thank.” he smirked before he sighed heavily, “The way things have been going around here, it's a relief our plan with off without a hitch.”

“What do you mean?” Vera queried.

“Bah…my organization has been having a run of bad luck, but I suppose that’s just how it goes. Never mind that.”” he said dismissively.”You did the job, and you did it well, lass.” Brynjolf turned, “Here you go. Your payment. Just as I promised.” Brynjolf leaned on the railing sliding a coin purse to Vera.

“There’s more where that comes from. If you think you can handle it.” Brynjolf was all silver tongue and swagger. Vera sized him up as he spoke and smiled.

“We make a good team,” she said, imagine just for a moment—and only, she told herself, out of sheer relief for her narrow escape—the other kinds of trouble they could find together. As the grin on his face grew wider, she belatedly realized that her assessment had been none too subtle.

“Careful,” Brynjolf chuckled, “or I’ll start thinking you like me.”

“Would that be so bad?” She looked at him from under her eyelashes, feel uncharacteristically flirtatious with the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

“Depends.” He flicked his eyes over her face, thoughtfully. Then, he stepped so close that her skin began to prickle. “The Ragged Flagon." he said softly into the shell of her ear, “Don’t be a stranger, Vera.”

Vera’s eyes languidly slid down his at his retreating form. “By the Eight!,” she muttered.


	11. Think Smarter, Not Harder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera collects debts in Riften.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worte in all 3 of the persuasive paths with the 3 debtors because ... plot reasons

Vera could hear indistinct conversations on the other side of a mildew stained wooden door. Its rusty hinges creaked as Vera pushed it open. She slowly crept forward, listening and watching. She breathed a sigh of relief when she recognized Brynjolf’s lilting accent as he spoke with a group of people. He was no longer wearing the fine clothes he had on before. Now, he wore a black leather cuirass and pants. A sturdy bandolier of many pouches strapped from his left shoulder to right hip. “Give it up, Brynjolf…." She heard the exasperated man behind the bar say, "Those days are long gone.” The glass clinking as he stowed bottles of ale on a low shelf.

“I’m telling you, Vekel, this one is different.” he insisted.

The man on Brynjolf’s left laughed. “Yeah, like we haven’t heard that one before, Bryn. Quit kidding yourself.” and clapped him on the back.

The bartender nodded his head. “It’s time to face the truth, old friend.” Wagging his finger “You, Vex, Delvin, Mercer… you’re all part of a dying breed. Things are changing.”

At that moment Brynjolf turned his head, and seeing Vera from the corner of his eye, said, “Dying breed, eh? Well, what do you call that then?” nodding his head over his shoulder. He turned his full attention to her, a proud grin spreading across his face. “Well, well… color me impressed, lass. I wasn’t certain I’d ever see you again.”

She firmly shook his hand, hiding her frustration behind a mask of all the bravado and charm she could muster. "What? That?!” she jerked her thumb toward the door leading out of the Flagon. Her posture cocked into a stance of feminine confidence, standing with a hand on her hip. Inwardly, she was cursing him and all his relatives, living and deceased, for not warning her that every miscreant she had encountered along the way would try to kill her for merely passing through. Good thing she could sneak. The first three didn't even know she was there as she crept silently through the shadows. However, her right hand was still smarting a bit from the lucky suckerpunch she landed on the drunken lout just outside the door.

The guys behind Brynjolf looked at each other then back at the dusky haired Imperial woman. The bartender chuckled and said, “I think you’re right, Bryn. This one is different.”  
Brynjolf chuckled at Vekel. He looked back at Vera, crossed his arms in front of his chest and cocked his head to the side. “Reliable and headstrong?” His lips turned up into a vainglorious smirk. “You are turning out to be quite the prize.” That comment was taken as such a shameless flirt; Vera felt the heat climbing her cheeks. He finished his tankard and escorted Vera away from the bar towards a wooden dock floating on a small reservoir. “Our organization could use someone with your skills.” he leaned against the railing on one hand. “So… now that I’ve whetted your appetite with our little scheme at the market”, his eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam, “how’s about handling a few deadbeats for me?”

“I just got down here, and now you’re sending me out again? What do I look like? Your page boy?” she looks around incredulously.

“Think of it as the next phase of your initiation, lass. Do you want the coin or not?”

“Fine. Give me the details.”

“They owe our organization some serious coin and have decided not to pay. I want you to show them the error of their ways.”

Catching his hint, Vera said, “How would you suggest I” she gestured towards towards herself, an Imperial woman of average height possessing a nowhere near intimidating lithe, athletic physique, “handle that? I’m exactly not built for strong-arming debtors, Brynjolf.”

“Use your head, lass.” he tapped his index finger into the center of her forehead. Vera glared at him for patronizing her. “We're not the Dark Brotherhood. And, honestly? The debt is secondary here. What’s more important is that you get the message across that we are not to be ignored. Do this right, do this clean, and I can promise you a permanent position in our organization.”

“Sounds good. Who are they?”

“You’ve already met Keerava, barkeep of The Bee and Barb. Bersi Honey-Hand owns The Pawned Prawn General Store. And you’ll find Haelga at The Bunkhouse.”

Vera’s military instincts taking over, she replied “Consider it done.” She made her way back up to the streets of Riften, determination in her steps. The scout in her knew gathering intell would help her achieve her objective. Having seen the sign for the Pawned Prawn earlier in the day from Balimund's foundry, she decided the the general store would be her first stop.

The bell above the door jingled pleasantly as she stepped inside the store. “Come on in!” a burly, red-bearded Nord greeted her warmly, though Vera was sure he would not be so friendly in the next few minutes. “Welcome to my humble shop! May I interest you in anything particular today?”

“Yes, Bersi.” Vera answered matter-of-factly, “Brynjolf wants his money.” Vera quickly took note of the store’s varied array of wares. A sizeable, ornate dwarven urn seemed out of place with the rest of the Rift style decor and goods. It must have been important because it was prominently occupied a place of honor on a console table near the counter.

“Wha...” Having never met the Imperial woman standing before him, he was confounded. At the mention of Brynjolf’s name, he sneered “Oh. It’s one of you people.” His voice full of derision.

“So he doesn’t even bother to show up himself anymore? Sends one of his pathetic, milk drinker lackeys instead, eh?”

“Pay up. Or bad things happen.” she warned, her fingers toying with the lip of the urn.

“Petty threats and fist waving aren’t going to scare me.” Bersi glared at her through his fearful eyes and bobbing throat betrayed his words. “‘Tis only a matter of time before all of you are run out of Riften!” His shouting caused all the other customers to stop to see what was the matter. Vera shrugged as she grabbed ahold of the urn, threatening to smash it on the floor.

“Just pay her, Bersi!” a brunette woman pleaded. The tension in the air was palpable as neither the shopkeep or Vera wished to end the situation amicably.

“You people are all talk, and everybody knows it!” his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“Fine. Have it your way.” Vera threw the urn to the floor, breaking it to smithereens. Though, she did harbor a hidden twinge of guilt in her heart for destroying the ancient artifact.

“No!” he despaired “Here take your gold and leave me in peace!” The coin purse violently jingled as he shoved it into her hand. Taking her cue to leave, Vera summarily exited the shop, leaving sounds of Bersi dejectedly sweeping up the tinkling shards urn as the door shut behind her.

After wandering down a few side streets, she saw the sign for The Bunkhouse, her next destination. The door creaked as she entered. She was promptly brusquely greeted by a blond woman sweeping the floor. Her eyes scoured the woman standing before her. “You’re not one of my boarders and this isn’t the Bee and Barb, so what do you want, Imperial?” Haelga snapped.

“I’m here for what Brynjolf wants.” Vera matched her curt tone. “He’s run out of patience.”

“And so have I!”

“This isn’t about money anymore.” Vera chose her next words carefully. She was actually talking about gaining Brynjolf’s respect, but was not her fault if Haelga took her words as a threat of a different nature.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t scare me with your tough talk! I’m not paying a fetching single cent!”

For the second time of a day, Vera would have to think creatively. Only this time, it was a gilded marble statue of the divine Dibella, gleaming from its perch atop a narrow entryway desk. Vera inwardly sighed at having to possibly destroy a second most prized possession in a single day. Quick as a flash, the statue was in her grasp.

“Please! Don’t take my statue! It’s the only thing of value I have left!” Haelga pleaded.

“Really? So, would it be worth more or less than your debt to see me not drop this down a well?”

Haelga reached for the statue, only to have Vera keep it beyond her grasp. Vera stuck out her palm.

“Here. Take your gold!” She aggravatedly took the coin purse from her apron pocket and plunked it into Vera’s awaiting hand, then grumbling under her breath “I hope you choke on it.” Haelga disdainfully glared at her the whole way out the door.

Arriving at her third and final stop of the day, Vera entered the Bee and Barb. Its barroom markedly less lively than her first time visit the night before. The scents wafting from the kitchen signaling midafternoon preparations were underway for the dinner crowd. Mincemeat pie, by the smell of it. Another smell of Mama and home, it all just made what she was about to do even harder.

Keerava was wiping down the bar, “You missed checkout time,” her gravelly voice clearly annoyed, she bent down and came out behind the bar carrying Vera’s knapsack, quiver, and bow. then she unceremoniously dropped at the Imperial’s feet “Your things.”

“Thank you” Vera feigned gratitude. Someone mistreating her bow like that made her blood boil. “But that’s not the only reason I’m here. I have a message from Brynjolf.”

“I’ve already told that buffoon I’m not paying you people a single coin!”

Vera squared her shoulders and crossed her arms in front of her chest, “It was never a request. You signed a contract and I’ve come to collect.” Vera did not budge an inch.

“Look around you!” Keerava scolded gesticulating wildly, ”This war is bad for business! No customers, no money! I’m barely keeping this rathole together! Talen-Jei!” An imposing male Argonian appears from the kitchen area. “Show this dryscale out!”

“Let’s go!” he grabbed her shoulder, his talons digging into the shoulder of her shirt, pricking the skin beneath, much like an eagle grasping hold of a wriggling salmon. He spun Vera around and pushed her towards the door.

Thinking quickly, she remembered how smitten Talen-Jei and Keerava were with each other at breakfast that morning and that she was wearing a Hist band, which (if her fuzzy recollection of Argonian culture was true) meant they were engaged. For the third time, her conscience felt wrong for what she was going to do, but she was - this close - to success, she just had to push the guilt aside. Divines forgive me, she prayed. As hard as she could, she dug in her heels before reaching the threshold, spinning back to face him, “You might want to talk some sense into your fiancée, Keerava.”

Fear flashed in his reptilian eyes. Now, seemingly willing to listen to reason, he replied, “Though the rumors say Brynjolf is doing poorly, the last thing I want is a war with your people. I’m not that crazy.”

“Then help me convince her to pay!” Vera insisted.

He uttered a disgusted noise before conceding. “Look, she has some family on a farm just inside the Morrowind border. Mention them and she just might listen to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have got other things to attend to.” He begrudgingly stepped aside as Vera straightened her cuirass as she marched back to the bar.

“I thought I told you to get out of my tavern.” Keerava snarled, her grip tightening on the bottle of mead, her claws etching scratches into the brown glass.

“If I leave empty-handed, I’m heading to that farm in Morrowind”, Vera tried to put just enough malice in her voice to sound threatening, though she never intended to carry out that threat. As a thief, she was only interested in taking money, not lives.

“How could you possibly…” Vera’s callous mask did not break. Immediately changing her tune, “No! Please!” Keerava begged. “My family means everything to me, just don’t hurt them!” She scrambled to reach below the counter, “Here! Take this back to Brynjolf!” Vera caught a large, hefty coin purse squarely in her chest. “It’s all there, I swear!”

Vera could almost feel Keerava’s hatred burning into her back the entire way as she walked out of the bar. Once outside, she headed down to the maze of stagnant canals, known as the Ratway. With each tenacious footfall, she stepped further into the shadow.


	12. Meet The Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera joins the crew

By the time Vera arrived at the Flagon, her conscience was lighter. She was no longer feeling guilty about the events of the past few days. All of her life, she had possessed all tell-tale talents of a good thief. Her mother, Divine's rest her soul, had done her best with what little they had, but teetering on the edge of destitute poverty was no way to live. The Imperial Army had suppressed the immoral nature of her skill set, exploiting the rest to their benefit with deadly precision. What did she get in return? Heartache, scars. Everyone in her life had tried to change her, manipulate her into what they wanted her to be. But, Brynjolf? Only he had accepted that larceny was in her blood. He let her do what she did best. No questions asked.

When she enters, the barroom is empty, save for Brynjolf and the barkeep. She saunters over to the bar, choosing to sit on a stool next to the red-haired Nord.

“So job’s done then, eh?” Brynjolf orders to two tankards with a gesture, sliding one to her.

“Did you ever doubt me?” she asked, cocking her head to one side, her smile reached her eyes.

“Not for a minute, lass.” He clinked his tankard with hers. “And, I like your methods.” he returned her smile. “You did it smart because, best of all, no one got hurt. Hiring cleaning crews to keep the guards quiet can get expensive.”

“Here’s what they owed us.” She reached into the satchel on her hip and slid him the three coin purses across the bar. Vera's hand graced his arm from wrist to elbow. “Don’t you owe me something in return?” not bothering to hide her wantonly coy tone.

“I think you’ll find this to your satisfaction,” his hand lingering on hers as he doled out her cut of the coins.

“What’s next, Brynjolf?” she hoped he understood that she is not merely asking for her next job. Her eyes fell to his lips.

“You’ve more than proven yourself to me.” his emerald eyes locked on hers, an inescapable gravity pulling their bodies closer together, the world becoming a swirling mist dissolving around them... until an unseen masculine elven hand clapped Brynjolf on the back. He spun on his barstool and growled “What?!”

A raucous chorus of laughter erupted from the small crowd, now gathered around the pair. A Bosmer voice answered with a question of his own. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your new" he cleared his throat "protege, Bryn?” The Bosmer man asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Brynjolf wipes the annoyance from his face then raked his hand through his hair. “Meet the crew, lass.” he introduces each in turn. “Niruin, the sneakiest elf bastard this side of Valenwood.” he punches the Bosmer’s shoulder, who takes the blow but feigns injury. “Vex, infiltrator.” The blond Imperial’s expression was one of feminine arrogance.

Before Brynjolf could move on to the next crew member, Vex interjects "The best infiltrator" as if Brynjolf forgot to describe her correctly. She steps toe-to-toe with Vera and looks down her nose at her. He gives her a look as if she's coming off too aggressively and gently pulls her back aside.

“Thrynn, Rune, Dirge, and Sapphire: enforcers.” The quartet nod acknowledgment and exchange handshakes with Vera. “Vipr, our master pickpocket. Cynic Endil, our resident jailbreaker.” The duo also nods and shake her hand. “Tonila, our fence. Treat her right, and she'll make you rich.” The Redguard woman smiled knowingly, accepting his appraisal. “And that sore loser, skulking in the corner over there,” he raised his voice in that direction “is Delvin Mallory.” The Breton acknowledged his introduction. “Don’t worry too much about him. He still mad because I cleaned out his purse in cards last night.” Brynjolf raised his voice, making sure everyone heard his proclamation. Delvin flipped them all off, while the whole gang cackled.

“Vekel! A round of drinks on me!” Brynjolf warmly ordered to which they all cheered.

Several toasts later, Vera locked eyes with Vex, who crooked her finger, beckoning her to sit at her table. Vera couldn’t help but feel as if she was reprimanded for some unknown offense as she spoke.

"Before we begin, I want to make two things crystal clear. One, I'm the best infiltrator this rat hole of a crew's got, so if you think you're here to replace me, you're dead wrong. And two, you follow my lead and do exactly as I say... no questions, no excuses."

“I’ll keep that in mind” Vera gulped her ale.

"Then we understand each other... good. Now, it's time to get your feet wet. I’ve got a rival gang's dead drop location that needs sweeping." She reaches into a hidden pocket on her cuirass, then slides a black leather-bound book across the table into her hands. Its spine creased and its cover edges well-worn. Flipping through its yellowed pages, she learned it was a pictograph codebook

"Guard that book" she tapped it forcefully, looking straight into Vera's eyes, "with your life."

“...Because this book is going to tell me how to find it?” Vera asked curiously.

“I’m not here to hold your hand. Figure this out yourself.” Vex snapped.

This area of the subterranean tunnels was unfamiliar to Vera. The bandit thugs down here must belong to another gang, their faces painted red, making them look even more menacing. Knowing she could not win against them, she did what she does best, sticking to the shadows. Then there were the three locked grates, were challenging, to say the least, seeing as how she was now down to her last lock-pick. However, judging by the shadow marks etched on the stone walls along the way, her objective was a door directly in front of her at the end this dank, skeever-infested corridor. She could not wait to get out of this shitty place and into clean, dry clothes. When she was about forty feet away from the door, she tripped over some glass bottles sending them clattering across the stone floor. She swiftly dodged for the shadows behind a brick pillar. She peered out from behind cover. Judging the coast was clear, she continued sneaking down the hallway. 30 feet. 20 feet. 10 feet. Vera felt her adrenaline crescendo up until the moment she was sent reeling forward, the wind knocked of her chest as she collided with the floor. Her left arm abruptly twisted into a hammerlock behind her back. The more she struggled, the more her assailant increased the pressure.

“Every move or footfall you make echoes within every chamber and tunnel. Silence makes the difference between a purse full of coin and an ax in your skull.” Vex appeared from the darkness, arms crossed in front of her chest. “You,” she continued, as Vera’s captor’s knee bored into Vera’s spine, “stomp around like a swamp boar. If this were real, you’d be dead.”

Vera craned her neck to an angle where she could see a familiar Nordic face streaked with red war paint “Thrynn!” she growled, not even trying to hide her irritation. The gargantuan hulk grinned, his immovable weight bearing down on her as she bucked against him.

“Now, don’t muck it up next time,” Vex commanded.

Vera reluctantly tapped out causing Thrynn to release his hold on her. Thrynn helped her up as she straightened her cuirass and rolled her shoulder. “Was that even necessary?! You scared the hell out of me” Vera groused.

“What’s the difference between a footpad and a puppy? In six weeks, the puppy stops whining.” she chastised. “Go talk to Vipr in the marketplace. He’s got a job for you.”

Vera arrived in the marketplace, still nursing her wounded ego. Vipr was leaning on the wall opposite the entrance. Brynjolf, in his stall next to him, wearing his merchant’s attire. He was performing his snake oil salesman act, but also kept the pair set in his sights.

“Well, well, took you long enough.” Vipr arms crossed in front of his chest as he leaned on the wall of the Bee and Barb.

“What’s this all about you wanting to see me?” She grumbled.

“Get arrested in Whiterun or any other hold, and you'll be tossed right into the prisons. And if you haven’t noticed, we can’t afford to bail out every footpad that gets pinched lately.”

“Is this another test?! I know what I’m doing.” Vera fired back.

"Lying to my face isn't gonna win you any favors with me, I can promise you that. Word travels fast around here, and you already failed once today.”

“Ok.” She dragged her hand across her face and conceded. “What would you do in my position?”

“I want you to do a little fishing. Unlike our Brynjolf, there, I don’t work on hunches. We’ve still got some clout here in Riften. So before we send you out there to another hold, let’s see what you got. Meet me in the temple courtyard when you are done.”

Vera scanned the crowd. The woman shopping with her children at the grocer’s stall wouldn’t do. There isn’t much money in selling produce, so the grocer was out, too. Madesi’s is too hot. Brand-Shei must still be in jail because his stand was shuttered.

Bullseye! She set her sights on a young, brawny nobleman browsing the wares of Balimund's workbench. A “white knight” if she ever saw one. Dusting off the cobwebs of an old, reliable con she had pulled as a teenager, Vera turned her back to Vipr and Brynjolf. She straightened her cuirass before she palmed her knife and approached the man. Nearing him as he walked across the plaza, she purposely stumbled over own feet. The nobleman caught her. Hook. “Forgive me I wasn’t watching where I was going!” Her profuse apology shortly followed by a “You’re too kind” as he set her on her feet. Line. “I’m so sorry to bother you, messere. My family has just moved to town, and my little sister has caught a terrible fever. Could you please direct me to the alchemist?” Sinker. The man fell for the ruse and gave her directions. Meanwhile, she reached behind his back. Her deft, silent slashes cut the laces from a heavy pouch in on the rear of his belt in one swift motion. “Thank you. Thank you very much” she shook his hand before she looked over the nobleman’s shoulder to Brynjolf who scratched his ear. Vipr seemed to get the message because he wiped his nose before turning to leave. Vera melted into the crowds and made her way to the Temple of Mara. Behind the walls of the courtyard, she couldn’t help but gloat as she tossed the coin pouch to Brynjolf.

“A classic cutpurse mixed with damsel-in-distress. Not bad.” Vipr remarked seemingly pleased with her skills.

She flashed a knowing smile. As she tucked a braid behind her ear, she nonchalantly flashed a man’s gold sapphire ring that she had not been wearing before the setup. The two men looked at each other, then back at Vera.

“Huh, looks like the lass could give you a run for your money, Vipr.” Brynjolf chuckled.

“No one can keep up with me, Bryn, not even the guards” he fires back. The two men erupt in laughter. Vera feels like there is a story in there somewhere that she doesn’t know about, but joins in anyway.

“The best way to get on Vex’s good side is to take some jobs off her hands." Brynjolf throws his arm over Vera's shoulder "I know she’s got a few marks in Windhelm taxed with carrying some heavy items. Care to lighten their loads?”


	13. Fishing Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera goes fishing in Windhelm to take her mind off things.
> 
> my first bashful attempt at writing NSFW, but it's towards the end

Brynjolf, Vera, and Vipr went back to The Flagon. The men excused themselves leaving Vera in the barroom. She ordered an ale and a plate of food. Absorbed inside one of a hundred memories she didn’t want in her mind, she almost didn’t notice the bald Breton at the end of the bar until he invited her to sit closer.

“Something troublin’ ya? I’ll listen.”

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind, lately.” she sighed, thankful for a willing ear.

"Brynjolf, huh? Lemme guess.” Delvin cocked his head to one side “He plucked you off the street and dropped you into the thick of things without tellin' you which way is up. Am I right?"

“That about sums it up.” she tucked the darker memories of war aside for her more present troubles. “Things must be pretty desperate around here for him to have picked a nobody like me.

“Not just a nobody. Bryn’s instincts are rarely wrong.”

“If so, how did thing get this way?” she asked in a sweeping motion regarding the dilapidated state of the Flagon. “When did things fall apart?”

"A few decades ago, this place was as busy as the Imperial City. Now, you're lucky if you don't trip over a skeever instead.”

Vera nodded in agreement. “Why did you stay?”

“Same reason you’re here. Brynjolf." He chuckled at her averted gaze and blush. "Anyways, I couldn’t just leave my brother-in-crime just because things got rough. And look, I know the others think I'm a bit daft for sayin' stuff like this, but I'm gonna give it to you straight. Somethin' out there is piss-drunk mad at us. I don't know who or what it is, but it's beyond just you and me. We've been cursed. We used to have a foothold in every major city in Skyrim. You wouldn't dare even lift an apple without checkin' with us. When things started goin' downhill around here, it became difficult to keep it all together. We lost fences, influential contacts, and coin. It wasn't long before we lost what we depend on to survive... respect. Bryn seems to think by doin' these jobs in other holds and puttin' some fear into the people; we can take back the cities and start bein' taken seriously again."

“So what do you suppose can be done about it all?”

“I'll tell you what we do. We spit in that curse's face and turn things around down here. Put things back the way they were. That's where you come in. I've got plenty of work available that could guide us down the road to recovery. All you need to do is ask, and we can both come out of this smellin' like a rose.”

“I think Brynjolf’s off somewhere trying to get me back into Vex’s good graces. She might have some jobs for me in Windhelm. Got anything in the neighborhood?”

“I got a few marks. Three names and descriptions for you.”

“I love a good fishing trip.” Vera stowed the scrap of parchment in her shadow mark codebook. The events of the day hung heavy on her shoulders as she yawned drowsily. “Hey, Vekel. Since I’m no longer welcome in The Bee, do you know where I can stay?”

“I’ve got a few beds in the back room I used to rent to footpads a few years back. It’s no private palace, but the rent is reasonable. Say, 40 a week? I know you’re good for it.”

Vera, having sold Tonilia the sapphire ring, counted out her first payment into his hand.

“Let me show you to your bunk.” he said coming around the bar, “Follow me.”

Vera followed Vekel down a dimly lit corridor behind the barroom to a room with three pairs of bunks. Water was dripping down the dark brick walls, where moss hung in a few places, and its spartan decor made it feel like this space was now used more for crashing after a bender. But, it would be a place to call home for the time being.

Sometime later while she is stowing her gear in a footlocker near on a bottom cot, she heard feminine steps behind her. Vex walked to over a table and sat down backward in the chair to face her.

"I'm not going to sugar-coat it for you. I still have my doubts about you.” she points directly at Vera. “But, Bryn insists that you can get out there and start making a name for us again. We're in a bad way down here, and he trusts you, for whatever reason, so you get one more shot to earn mine. And, while you're at it, you get to make a little bit of coin on the side.”

The fact that Brynjolf trusted her made her inwardly smile.  “That’s not a bad deal. What have you got for me?”

“I could point out a couple of good places that could use a little housecleaning.”

“I’m up for some good old-fashioned burglary. Got anything in Windhelm?”

“You know I do. Here are the locations.” she handed Vera a small piece of parchment. “Time is money, and you’re not making any standing here. Get going first thing tomorrow morning.” Vex left after issuing her orders.

Sometime later, Vera was lying awake in her bunk chiding herself for pining for Brynjolf, his suggestive smile, and smooth demeanor. He was slyly handsome in a way Vera appreciated. He was fun to talk to, to flirt with, and a nice distraction. However, it was plain to see that this was a man who would "love 'em and leave 'em"; not one to form deep relationships with his lovers. Which was just as well, her heart couldn't bear another loss in her life, either. She had lost far too many who had been dear to her. Besides, it was much easier to only worry about herself. Yet, here she was, unable to sleep, having extremely graphic fantasies about him.

Divines sakes, I only just met the man. Why am I fawning over him like a schoolgirl?  

The heat between her legs fanned into a desperate, utter need for him. Tonight, she found herself alone, touching herself, dragging her fingers around her body all while imagining it was him. His skilled fingers moving inside her, his tongue pleasuring her most sensitive bud and driving her to the peaks of pleasure. His warm emerald gaze, his captivating kisses, his broad chest and striated biceps pressing her body into the creaking bed. His large hands grasping the curve of her hips as he drove into her as they writhed as one.  
  
She was barely able to bite back a moan as her hand drifted down to reach inside her soaked panties, shuddering when her fingers brushed her clit. Her other hand slid under her shirt to tweak and pinch an erect nipple as she continued to rub her clit, soft sighs and moans escaping her lips, all while pretending it was Brynjolf pleasuring her, his hands skimming her flesh, his lips roaming her body. A soft whimper fell from her lips as she pressed two fingers into her folds, slipping two digits into her core and beginning to pump, her lips miming his name as she did so.  
  
“Oh, Brynjolf…” barely a murmur on her lips.  
  
She bit back her keening whines as she continued to pleasure herself, Hurtling towards bliss’ edge, his name falling from her lips repeatedly just as she was about to fall into euphoria, a vivid image of him in her mind, her eyes squeezed shut in concentration. “Oh, yes, Brynjolf—oh, Bryn—” At those words, she lost all control, seeing stars as she clenched around her fingers, silently crying out his name, throwing her head back against the pillows, whimpering as she came down from her high, her legs trembling. “Brynjolf…” She went limp collapsing into her mattress, her breathing shallow and uneven.  
  
She stared up at the ceiling in silence. Mixing business and pleasure never ended well. Windhelm would be a chance to get her head on straight.


	14. Downtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera reveals hidden talents

"It was on the job a few years back…” Vipr started to weave his tale, “it was supposed to be a simple burglary on a Windhelm house. I was working with Vex, and we got inside with no trouble. We found the loot, and made our way out."

“Sounds like a normal heist.” vera commented

"Well it was, up until the point where we set foot outside.” he pressed on with his story. “The house got surrounded by town guard... the client had ratted us out. Vex just tells me to run, so I did. Half of them went after me; the other half went after her. Vex lost them in seconds.. once she steps into the shadows, she vanishes. Me?” he took a swig of his ale. “I ran... and I ran... straight through the gates of Windhelm and all the way back to Riften. Vex was waiting for me at the Flagon when I came in... drenched in sweat. Everyone just took a look at me and laughed." The crew had started to snicker.

“Why?” Vera drank from her tankard. “What was so funny?”

“Well, I had forgotten we had our horses tied up just outside of Windhelm... Vex rode hers back and arrived hours before I did. So, that's how I earned the name, Fleet.”

"Are you sure it wasn't because of your bedroom prowess?" Sapphire teased.

Amongst the raucous laughter echoing off the masonry walls of the Rataway, Vera had found a sense of belonging again. Burglars, criminals, swindlers, and cheats the whole lot of them, but they were family. The earthy bricks, wet wood, drenched in ale had become a smell of home. Home. Family. Somethings she had thought she'd lost.

Brynjolf and Delvin were throwing daggers at a straw target, a common pastime between the two friends. Their trash talk caught Vera's ear as she made her way back from the bar.

"Gloat all you like; you're going down with this next throw." Delvin bragged

Vera perched herself on some crates, a slight smile on her face as she listened to their competitive banter. Brynjolf noted her presence, and it interrupted the game.

"I saw you two are playing a game." She remarked.

"I saw you watching." a lopsided grin on his face.

"Are you two playing nice?" Vera sips her drink, her darting tongue catching an escaping drop of drink.

"I always play nice" Brynjolf answers with a flourish.

"Face it, Bryn. You're just delayin' the inevitable." Delvin throws his next dagger at the target, bringing his score to a small lead.

"Really? Because I've just won" Brynjolf's dagger twanged in the bullseye, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. "and that's why I'm the best." Delvin conceded defeat and ambled back towards the bar.

"Oh really?" Vera asked. "I think I could beat you." Vera boasted with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

This time it was him who raised an eyebrow. “The lass likes a challenge,” he said as he marked off three paces. He looked at her as she approached him; he liked the swivel in her hips and the sparkle in her eyes as she smiled sweetly at him. He thought about how he wanted to get to know her body intimately and not for the first time.

Brynjolf locked eyes with her, "When I set my eyes on a target, I never miss." His double entendre was not lost on Vera as he collected the knives from the target. He flipped a knife catching it by its blade, handle facing Vera, "Ladies first."

Vera arced her arm back and threw her dagger which sunk into the center ring, quietly vibrating in the center circle. She strutted away from the line and perched her bottom on the edge of the table.

Brynjolf gave an impressed expression before he stepped to the line, readying his throw.

Vera nonchalantly flipped her collar to open wider, her fingers slowly caressing her decolletage before her hands slid down her chest and cupped her breasts, adjusting her bosom. Brynjolfs eyes fell at the roundness of her exposed cleavage; his dagger sailed wildly off target, embedding in a crate to its left. 

“Where the victory music when you need it?" She triumphantly downed her mug. "Vekel, you should hire a bard, now that your bar is halfway presentable.” remarking on the newfound cleanliness and notable lack of skeevers. A minor facelift since her return from the five Windhelm jobs.

“You wound me, Vera. But I know that you just bought a lute off of Tonilia a few days ago. Even heard you last night in the bunkroom. So why don’t you grace us with your talents, hmm?”

“That was just me messing around. I’m not that good.”

Rune chimed in “I’ve heard you, too. You don’t have to be so modest.”

Brynjolf arches an eyebrow, “Vera? Sing? I didn’t know the lass could sing?”

“Oh, there’s a lot more you don’t know about me.” Vera picked up the lute. It was a high-quality instrument of ebony, spruce, and maple. Its bright treble tones and rich harmonic complexity reverberated throughout the barroom. Her mother’s voice in the ether of her mind sang an unheard harmony as the words flowed over her nimble fingers strumming the chords.

Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin

naal ok zin los vahriin

wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!

Ahrk fin norok paal graan

fod nust hon zindro zaan

Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!

A soft silence fell over The Flagon; they all sat enthralled by the melody produced by such a slender throat. From the very depths of her soul, she remembered all the verses so lovingly taught her by her mother. The song rose and swelled, the crescendo was intense, a slow, rolling build that crashed her audience like a tremendous wave. Brynjolf had sat entranced, watching her coral lips as they formed the vowels. She had sung with just as much passion and fluency as a native Nord. The lass was full of surprises.

The music seemed to pour from her soul  Vera could see her mother's face, her sandy blond curls, her warm smile; it was too much. Silent tears rolled down Vera’s cheeks as the final chords dissipated.  

Vera excused herself and went into the privacy of the bunkroom. Brynjolf made to follow her, but Sapphire stopped him, motioning for him to sit back down, “Let me go talk to her.”

Vera was still trying to get herself back together, softly sniffling on the edge of her bunk, when Sapphire came in to check on her.

“I know I’m not always so good at this feelings stuff, but what’s wrong Vera?”

She wiped her face on her sleeve. “I miss her. My ma” she sniffed “was a bard, a Nord. She followed my pa’s regiment back to Cyrodiil. She taught me the songs to soothe her homesickness. She said it was her way of keeping her homeland traditions alive. The songs, the stories, it was a piece of home to carry, no matter where she went." Vera sniffed. "It just got to me, that’s all. What about you? What’s your story?”

“You...want to know about me?”

Vera nodded. “How did you get the name Sapphire?”

“That’s easy. Because I like to steal them.” she reached in her pocket, revealing two saturated cobalt faceted stones. “But you probably want to know how I got here? I was a young girl, barely out of my teens...living on a pig farm in the middle of nowhere. Didn’t have a coin to spend amongst our entire family. Ate the same slop we fed our livestock.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“Oh, it gets worse. A bandit clan attacked our farm and killed my entire family who didn’t even brandish a weapon against them. They took me as a prize and tossed me around from bandit to bandit like...like...”

Vera took her hand in hers.

“It’s fine... I had to tell someone I suppose. Carrying a weight like that… it hurts after a while. Cuts you inside like a dagger.”

“How did you get away?”

“Over time I gained their confidence. Then one night I grabbed a knife, waited until they were all asleep, cut their throats, and never looked back. I wandered around until I joined up here.” A wistful smile crept across her face.

“So I finally get to see you with a smile on your face.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to feel at home, you know? But don’t go spreading it around. Don’t want them to think I’ve gone soft.” Sapphire playfully pushed Vera's shoulder.

The two women embraced as sisters. Pulling apart, Sapphire offered, "If you need fight training, just ask. Nothing makes me feel better quite like punching something."

"I just might take you up on that." A quiet knock on the doorframe interrupted before Vera could continue. ”Yes, Vex?“

“Brynjolf and Delvin wanted to see you. Something about a special job in Windhelm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wr-buV4tYOA  
> this was my inspiration for Vera's singing and playing talent.


	15. Shadows Over Windhelm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew gets a special mission in Windhelm.

Thrynn, Vera, Niruin, and Brynjolf disembark the carriage in Windhelm, the biting mountain winds stinging their faces. Ice crusted muddy puddles cracked and snow was swirling about their boots as they cross the bridge into the city. Directly inside the city gates, the brazier lights cast an orange glow upon a sign in the central plaza, CANDLEHEARTH HALL.

“Spare a coin for a poor old woman? A few septims for my supper is all I ask.", a Nord beggar woman pleaded. She shivered in her ragged cloak as Vera placed a 20 septum coin in the beggar’s hand. “The Divines smile your charitable soul.” as she ambled away to stand nearer the brazier in front of the tavern.

“Oh, thank the Eight!” Vera sighed as they all stepped inside the tavern. Niruin seemed to second that sentiment. All set to dusting off their snow encrusted kits.

“It’s not even that cold.” Thrynn. The cold weather hardly bothered him or Brynjolf, though it set both Vera’s and Niruin’s teeth chattering. The quartet made their way upstairs to the great room. A large room with low rafters; roaring fire in the massive stone fireplace with a single lit candle on its mantel. A roast of mutton was turning on the creaking spit; its rich smells of hot steaming meat mingled with that of years of spilled ale. Stormcloaks with bristling beards sprawling on low benches wrapped in woolen cloaks engaged in scuffles of jovial argument. The hearth’s wavering orange light was splashing over everything, casting large black flapping shadows on the walls.

“Who are we meeting?” Vera asked.

“No idea. All I know is he is meeting us here.” Brynjolf settled into his chair, tankard in hand “Delvin said he would make himself known.”

“Why the secrecy?” Niruin questioned, pulled his hood over his pointed ears, leaned forward on the table, his eyes scanning the room. Vera had learned that elves were treated at best as exotic strangers, at worst mongrels. The latter sentiment she could empathize as an Imperial in the Stormcloak capitol.

“Pretty sure Delvin mentioned something to do with a thief murdering its marks?” Vera proposed.

“I don’t like all this cloak-and-dagger shit. Just tell me who it is, and I’ll punch.” Thrynn grumbled.

Thrynn steps away from the wall he had been leaning to step in front of an approaching man. Thrynn crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at him. The man warily took something from his cloak pocket and revealed a signet which matched the ones embossed on Brynjolf’s scabbards, an embossed silver circle encased within a diamond.

“We’ll soon find out.” Brynjolf gestured to his enforcer to let him through.

The sandy-haired Nord sits down “You Delvin Mallory’s crew?”

“Aye. What can we do for you?” Brynjolf passed him a tankard

“Torsten Cruel-Sea. My daughter, Fjolti, was murdered a few months ago. Bastards left her laying on the ground in a pool of her blood.” He took a long drink. “I assumed they were after her valuables. She always wore far too much jewelry in public. When I told her it’d be the death of her, I never thought…” his voice trailed off.

“I assure you it wasn’t any of ours,” Brynjolf told him

“No need to explain. I’m well aware of your code.” He sighed heavily, before continuing. “It took me weeks, but I finally tracked down her killer. A bloody Altmer who fancied himself a thief in a gang forming here in the city. He gave me some valuable information before....” his grip tightened on his tankard, simmering rage in his eyes. “Let’s just say, I’m a firm believer in an eye for an eye and leave it at that.”

“What do you need us for, then?” Brynjolf asked.

“Well, like I told Delvin, I think we can help each other. You recover what I’m looking for and take out  a rival in the process.”

“It’s something they took from your daughter, I presume.”

“Yes. An engraved silver locket, a Cruel-Sea family heirloom, given to our firstborns. Fjolti was never without it since the day I gave it to her. It’s missing, and I want it back.”

“Can you give us any other details?” Brynjolf asked.

“All I have is a name. Niranye. She has a market stall in the plaza and house here in Windhelm.”

“Thanks, Torsten. We’ll see what we can do”. The two men shook hands, and Torsten left the tavern.

“I know that name,” Brynjolf remembered as soon as Torsten was gone. “A former fence of ours. Something doesn’t feel right...There has to be more to it.”

“What’s the plan?” Vera asked

“We do this smart. We do it cleanly.” Brynjolf’s finger tapped the table with each statement. Only Thrynn seemed to object; he prefers to ‘punch first, ask questions later.’  “Vera, Niruin. I want you to tail her. The market is still open but closing soon, find out where she lives.”

The scouting pair went back out into the cold evening. They each found opposing dark corners in the market plaza and watched from a distance. Niranye, a tall, strawberry-blonde Altmer with golden eyes. A Dunmer merchant was conversing with her as. Her angular features just as sharp as her haughty voice cut through the din of the marketplace.

“Have you come to sell or to buy, hm? I assure you it’s all of the finest quality.”

“Niranye, I just have to know―what is your secret?" the Dunmer implored.

"My... my what, now?" raising a slender auburn brow high.

"You know. Where do you get your goods? I am always amazed at how you manage to sell things so cheaply."

"Oh, just a matter of finding the right suppliers." she waved dismissively.

"Well, I'll want to meet them next time they're around. Maybe you can give me an introduction."

"I'll consider it. Many of the people I deal with are... secretive. You know how it is."

As the elf closed her stall for the day, Vera would tell she did brisk business with the citizenry of Windhelm, which surprised Vera because the city was not welcoming of differing races, especially elves. Leapfrogging through the shadowed back alleys, yet always keeping their target in sight, Vera and Niruin tailed Niranye to her home and took note of its entrances and exits before reporting back to Brynjolf.

The next evening, Niranye, weary, enters her darkened home. She strikes match to relight the hearth. The flames grew to cast wavering orange light about the room. She startled as she turns around. Brynjolf and three hooded figures are sitting around her dining table.

“Beg your pardon. We must’ve forgotten to knock.” Brynjolf removes his hood.

“Brynjolf! What are you doing here?!”

"We’re here about Fjotli."

"Fjotli... Fjotli... Where have I heard that name? Oh, of course, the poor girl who was murdered. Such a beautiful young thing... a tragedy to be certain." Niranye evasively answered.

"Drop the act. I know you're involved." Brynjolf tells her flatly.

"How dare you! You're accusing me of taking part such a... such a... heinous act? I should have you arrested for even suggesting such a thing!" She denied.

“Niranye, you are a decent fence, but the most terrible actor.” He saw through her vehement facade.

Thrynn leans forward; his face remained shadowed by his hood, flexing his rounded fists, cracking his knuckles.

“Now, let’s just talk this out...like rational people” Niranye’s eyes grew wide.

"I'm listening." Brynjolf waved Thrynn off, who leaned back into shadow.

"Look, I had no choice. They're crazy... I could be killed!" She exclaimed

"Who's crazy?"

 "It's a guild of Altmer thieves; they call themselves the Summerset Shadows. Their leader, Linwe, he's the worst of the lot. He steals valuables from the dead."

"You mean he murders his marks." Brynjolf clarified.

 "No! Linwe prefers stealing from the deceased. He even stole that locket right off that poor murdered girl's body... or what was left of it. One of his crew is guilty, but not Linwe."

"How'd you get involved?"

"When Linwe moved into the area, he contacted me and said if I didn't fence for them, he'd kill me." Niranye wrung her hands.

"We can protect you,” he gestured to his comrades “if you tell me where he’s hiding."

"If I tell you, you need to promise not to kill me. I'd prove to be quite an asset…” Her throat bobbed. “I'm one of the best fences in Skyrim."

"You have my word. That's not our way." Brynjolf vowed.

She sighed relief. “He’s holed up in a place called Uttering Hills Cave. I’ll mark it on a map.” Niranye scribbles the coordinates on the parchment. “He’s got his entire crew there, so be careful. After you’re done with all of this, come back anytime, and I’ll make good on my end of the bargain.”

Byrnjolf and his three companions vanished just as quickly as they had appeared, gone before she had finished her statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcome!


	16. Do You Trust Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera and crew face Linwe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about time for some fight scenes and some smut. I'm still new to writing steamy parts. So for me, it is like, well, to quote Allistair: "I'll just be standing over here... until the blushing stops."
> 
> Comments welcome.

Under a rocky ledge five miles from Uttering Hills Cave, Vera and Niruin made camp after surveilling the Summerset camp for the third day. Their small fire crackled and popped as they settled in for the night. Niruin unfurled his bedroll between the rocky wall and sat shivering near the fire.

“I miss warmer climes, too, my friend.” Vera empathized. “Niruin, what’s your story?”

"I used to live in Valenwood working at my father's winery... we made the finest wine to ever cross your lips, I promise you. We were doing well, plenty of coin, a huge mansion and I was even betrothed to a lovely young woman." He almost sounded wistful.

“Sounds like the sweet life.” Vera commented, “Why would you want to leave all that behind?” She passed her waterskin to him.

"Because it was dull. Every day was the same boring routine; working at the winery, social visits with friends, parties with no one I cared about. I just wanted a little excitement. Something dangerous.” a glint rose in his eyes. “I hooked up with a crew in Valenwood…” he paused, “I think they called themselves the Silver Crescents. Spent quite a few years doing jobs for them. Made a lot of coins, but I didn't care. I didn't truly need it…” He drank. “I was running with them because it fit, made me feel alive.”

“How did you end up in Skyrim?” Vera took back the waterskin and drank.

“Well, after a while my father caught on to what I was doing. He confronted me one night and gave me a choice.” He held up one finger “Either leave Valenwood” he held up a second, “or he'd have me thrown in jail. Gave me a day to say my goodbyes to everyone. I ended up in Skyrim thanks to a contact I'd made when I was with the Crescents... good old Delvin.” He added before Vera would ask. “He introduced me to Gallus, and that was it. I've been here ever since. And you know what? Despite what I left behind, I don't regret it one bit."

“I’m starting to feel the same way. I haven’t felt at home anywhere in a long while. Never stayed in one place long enough to put down roots. But, since joining up...”

Gravel crunched nearby them, and both archers spun on their heels, bows were drawn, the strings creaked under the tension, though they immediately relaxed when Brynjolf and Thrynn appeared, snow-encrusted their hoods. The setting sun was shining off their sword hilts.

“Glad you two would finally make it” Vera beamed.

“What and miss all the fun?” Thrynn quipped back.

“Let’s just hope that Linwe sees reason and is willing to talk,” Brynjolf commented.

The four comrades settled in for the evening. They started passing a wineskin around the campfire. Vera once again felt an esprit de corps amongst her companions as they all traded stories late into the night.

Brynjolf wakes up winded, clutching the hide bedroll, hot and heavy and hard in his pants. The dream seemed so real; he could almost still feel every touch, hear every whisper, every moan, seeing her body writhing and flushing under his attention. He sits up and rubs his eyes, trying to ignore the aching erection between his legs. Dropping his hands in his lap, he looks to see Vera is sound asleep, curled up on her side in her bedroll. The firelight was softly flickering across her slumbering features. Thrynn was just starting to nod off while at his post.

Sighing, he throws off his covers and quietly gets up from his bedroll. “I’ll take the watch, Thrynn.”

Thrynn drowsily wobbles from his post, then adds a branch to the campfire and lies down within its radiant warmth. Brynjolf listens for the quiet dozing sounds of his companions, soon mixing with crackles of fire.  
  
Brynjolf wandered down to the brook about thirty yards from camp. His legs braced to counter the pitch of the hill, the frigid air swirling around him, the sky black as anthracite, each star a hard chip of broken glass, the moons ablaze in white light. In the stream’s wavering reflection, he sees himself, messy auburn waves and dark circles under his eyes. Then his gaze moves down to the bulge in his pants, so evident and cruel that he sits on the bank and shuts his eyes in frustration. Never mix business with pleasure, he chides himself. She is a member of his crew, his protege, but he had never been so tempted to break the rules.  
  
Vera, his temptress with her black plaited hair and steel gray eyes, her beautiful smile and tempting voice as she matched him flirt for flirt. He rubs his neck under the collar of his shirt, feeling sweat and hair, but also her touch, still lingering from his dream. Opening his eyes, gawking at how flustered, how aroused just a mere illusion made him. He feels hot and sweaty, muddled with dull pleasure and want that only one person can satisfy for him.  
  
His eyes focus on his fastenings at his fly, watching as his swollen cock is freed, proudly erect between his legs. Desire burns within him, and he knows it won’t fade. He takes himself in hand, leans back on a boulder at the water’s edge, and moans her name.  
  
“Vera,” her name on his lips so quiet, barely louder than the water, stroking his engorged shaft, he groans as he keeps going, thinking of her. He imagines kissing her, what she would taste like, how she would sound, what her skin would feel like on his. All he wanted was to have her under him, over him, then in front of him on her knees as he sated his lust on her body. He envisions pushing her up against a wall, pinning her there and devouring her, smothering her lips with his. He imagines his hands slipping down the smooth curve of her sides to rest on her hips, then sliding his hand between her thighs, feeling how wet and warm she is for him. Bryn—she would moan. Bryn, please—she would beg, and he would tease her folds a while longer before giving her what she wants, what she needs, what they both need. He would fuck her senseless right on that wall, hard and fast, and he’d make her cry his name to the Divines in bliss.  
  
Cursing, he rubs the tip of his cock with his thumb, swirling in circles, his hips bucking. Next, he imagines a bed. Slower, full of more passion and patience. He would make her melt on the sheets. Her legs wrapped tight around his hips, her lips keening his name. He would kiss her with unbridled carnal desire and slide into her, passionate moans would fill the air, and they would lose themselves writhing as one. He would make her feel ecstasy, and she would feel perfectly tight around him, her warm depths enveloping his hard length each time he slammed into her, the bed creaking. His thrusts making her full breasts bounce, her back arching, her hands fisted in the sheets, and her breath hitching as she rode out the waves of her orgasm.

Pumping himself faster, his muscles tense, balls tightening, arm aching. However, he doesn’t stop; he quickens his pace, the images more and more vivid until he comes, his thick, hot seed spurting from the tip, splashing upon the stream bank.

His eyes flutter open, body shuddering as pent-up pleasure races through his veins. A warm afterglow pooling low in his belly, cock softening in his hand. He sighs and watches his come drip down his shaft. He pants for air and licks his lips, wondering what in Oblivion is wrong with him.

What is happening to me? The universe offers no answer. He turns his attention to washing off any evidence, tucking himself back into his pants, then returning to camp. There was no way he was going back to sleep tonight. He watched his comrades asleep in their bedrolls, his gaze lingering the longest on Vera.

Thinking back to that first meeting, he couldn’t explain what had made him approach her in The Bee that night. She was not like any other woman he had met before. Somehow, some way, this little slip of a woman was managing to get under his skin, making him care about her. He enjoyed just being around her. She wasn’t his type at all, not even close. Too short, too slim, more muscular than he usually preferred his women, yet he couldn’t keep denying it. He was growing increasingly attracted to her as the days went by, yet he couldn’t quite explain why. The more time he spent with her, the more he did care about her, the more he wanted her as if his world had been missing an integral piece before she had fallen into his life.

Brynjolf was still sorting out his feelings as the sun rose over the horizon. The next morning, the group broke camp and silently made their way to the Summerset's camp.

“Those two, plus five more makes seven, maybe more.” Niruin pointed to the brutes guarding the entrance. In hushed whispers, Vera divulged what else they knew. “Lightly armed, though there appear to be a few heavy-hitters in the crew.”

Thrynn smiled as he flexed his fists. “Let’s say hello, shall we?” He climbed down from their vantage point, then walked into full view of the two Summerset guards, leaving Brynjolf and the archers behind.

“You picked a bad time to get lost, my friend.” The right guard stepped in front of the cave opening.

“Looking for Linwe. You seen him?” Thrynn hooked his thumbs on his belt and spat.

“Tell you what...You start running so I can stab you in the back.” The left one pushed Thrynn back. Thrynn threw a haymaker, swinging with full force, knocking him out cold. The right drew his sword and swung it at Thrynn. The arcing swing sliced through his shirt missing his stomach by centimeters.

“I get the feeling we’re not welcome here.” Vera nocked an arrow and fired, striking his sword arm, but it did not faze him. The Summerset guard’s sword switched hands and continued his attacks, striking a deep gash in Thrynn’s sword arm before he tripped him to the ground. “I’m going to cut you and your friends open like an old lady’s purse.”

Brynjolf rushed to Thrynn’s aid. The Summerset charged at him with his longsword upheld, thrusting forward and following it with a backswing. Brynjolf dodged the first and met the second with his ebony sword. The force of his attacks sent his opponent’s blade back, back, back…but not far enough to knock the sword free of his hands.  
  
Vera nor Niruin could get a clear shot as metal against clanged metal. His man staggered, Brynjolf swung again. His swing missed, though not close enough to cut fabric. The opponent managed a smirk, at the spryness of his dodge. Brynjolf had to admit it was impressive, but the sight only made him angrier.  
  
Swing. Swing. Swing. The first two missed severely, but the third, a backswing of the one before it, found flesh. The ebony blade sliced through his opponent as quickly as air. The Summerset dropped to a knee, tried to stand, and fell again. His chest heaving pained breaths, his arm clutching his eviscerated abdomen.

Brynjolf looked at his opponent; the wound was severe enough to kill him slowly. He raised his sword, avoiding eye contact as he brought it down for the merciful blow. He rushed to Thrynn's side and pulled a healing potion from his bandolier. Thrynn chugged it, and his bleeding gash slowed. “I’ve had worse. Besides, the wenches dig scars.” he grinned giving a sly wink.

“Yep. He’s fine” the other three nodded in agreement. The group made their way into the cave system, following its winding descent as the wind whispered through the dripping stalactites.

"...told her to just hand over the gold, but did she listen? Oh, no... they always have to fight back..."

Brynjolf gave the signal to hold, then with a gesture sent Niruin to sneak ahead. The Bosmer deftly scrambled up a ledge overlooking the cavern. Stones cascaded down as he swiftly climbed into the shadows above.

“Huh? Where you are going?” one Summerset said to another.

“I thought I heard something.” the curious Summerset went to investigate the sound, coming closer and closer. Brynjolf, Thrynn, and Vera readied their weapons. Vera’s arm started to shake with the strain of her bowstring.

Two arrows whizzed through the air from Niruin perch, embedding in the center of the Summerset’s back, who thumped face first to the ground. The commotion brought four more Summersets out from deeper within the stronghold.

“What...? Whoever did this, you're dead. You hear me? DEAD!" The brute’s voice echoed in the cavern. His companions drew their weapons and spread out searching.

“So much for negotiations,” Vera grumbled.

Thrynn charges out from his hiding spot and engages the nearest of the Summersets. He seemed to laugh as his knuckles connected with his enemy’s face, splitting the skin over his cheekbone with the force of the blow. He screamed and dropped to his knees—not incapacitated, but going for his boot knife. The Summerset lashed out, burying his stiletto above Thrynn’s knee. Thrynn pulled him to his feet, almost tearing his collar, the slight rasp of material ripping. Thrynn headbutted the Summerset out cold. Thrynn's injured leg gave out, and he collapsed against a wall.

Niruin and Vera’s arrows take out a second and third Summerset, leaving Brynjolf to clash with the remaining enemy.

The Summerset dipped and weaved right as he was about to reach him and slashed downwards with his sword. Brynjolf parried with his dagger, and the blade clashed against the metal with a shriek that sent sparks flying into the air. The Summerset swordsman was quick and slashed, attempting to slice Brynjolf’s neck. Brynjolf sidestepped to the right just far enough that the blade passed a hair's breadth from his face.

Quickly, before the Summerset could respond with a follow-up, Brynjolf swiftly punched the Summerset in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of his enemy, and stunning him for a brief moment. The quick blow had opened Summerset up for another attack and Brynjolf obliged him, putting a simple sidekick into the swordsman’s knee, doubling him over. Brynjolf followed that up with a quick rising uppercut using the pommel of his ebony sword. His opponent stumbled three paces backward and shook off the dazing blow. He spat blood from his split lips and roared as he charged. He was dead before he raised his sword, one of Vera’s arrows protruding from his chest.

Vera was about to breathe a sigh of relief when her world went careening sideways sending her reeling face first into the wall. Pain exploding in her chest as she felt ribs crack on impact.

“Thought you and your crew could come take over my city, eh?” The Altmer’s hot breath on her ear, his weight pinned her flat to the wall. He spun her to face him, his hand clasped around her throat. His golden dagger was glinting under her nose. He drew it across her cheek, leaving a shallow cut. Vera winced as she struggled to get away, but entrapped in his vice-like grip and clamping tighter the more she fought to get free; her lungs were on fire. She felt the blade’s edge trace her neck, coming to rest against her collarbone, as her vision blurred at its edges. “Oh, you’ll make a pretty corpse.”

“Let her go, Linwe.” a ferocious voice from behind them declared, biting into each word.

Linwe spun still holding on to Vera; he put her between himself and the voice. Brynjolf, his face half in shadow and half in torchlight, his eyes burning murderous rage. His dagger and sword drawn, his grip flexed, tightened on the handles. He strode forward, the tension in his fingers straining like a hair trigger on a trap.

“Take one more step, and she dies!” the elf’s dagger scraped under her jawline.

Brynjolf froze in his tracks, his face hardened, his eyes bored into Linwe.

“Drop your weapons.” jerking his chin at Brynjolf’s hands. Vera craned her neck away from the sharpness of the blade against her throat and squirmed against him. His arm held fast across her chest pinning her arms to her side as she clawed against his grip. Every sip of breath set her chest on fire.

“It’s going to be okay, Vera.” His voice calm; his face steeped in lethal rage

“This is all very touching, but I wouldn’t bet on that.” a thin-lipped smile on the Altmer's face.

Brynjolf raised his hands and loosened his grip. His weapons still in his hands, yet no longer pointing at Linwe, but the ceiling, “Let her go, and that’ll be the end of it. I will not look for you. I will not pursue you.”

“You’re trying my patience, human. Drop them NOW!” Linwe's dagger pressed harder to her throat with the forcefulness of the last word causing Vera to flinch.

A shift in the shadows above, unseen to Linwe. Brynjolf kept his face neutral. “Do you trust me, lass?”

Her eyes were wide. Heart hammering in her chest. Her answer choked in her throat. Instead, she gave a soft nod against the dagger on her neck.

Brynjolf slowly bends down, moving to place his weapons on the stone floor. As soon as he was half kneeling, an arrow tore out of the shadows above, embedding itself just under Linwe’s ear. He instantly let go of Vera as his body collapsed like a stringless marionette. Vera crumbled to her knees with him.

Brynjolf rushed forward to catch Vera. “Look at me, Look at me. It’s over. I’ve got you.”

Vera was shaking like a leaf, her eyes locked in a thousand yard stare. “Brynjolf?” she murmured as the daze lifted.

“I’m here. I’ll always be here.” He stood, reached down and plucked Vera from the ground as if she weighed nothing. Her tears fell faster, and she was starting to hiccup, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his chest.


End file.
